


not even the gods above

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, King Harry, King Louis, M/M, Prince Harry - Freeform, Prince Louis, Royalty AU, War, other royal nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:43:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: The thing is, though, this isn’t good enough for Harry. Sure, he has the rest of his life to be a notable king, but he wants to be notable now. He wants to bring the two kingdoms together and he wants to do it early on, wants to be the one to facilitate the merge until it seems like the two kingdoms were one all along. He doesn’t want to wait, but everyone he’s turned to thinks waiting is the right choice, so he supposes he has to trust them.That is, of course, until a declaration of war from the Kingdom of Tomlinson shows up at his palace.Prompt: Both are new kings of countries that haven’t been allies for the past decade. They need to come up with a treaty which means actually spending time with another. A hate-to-love.





	not even the gods above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lis (domesticharry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticharry/gifts).



> so uh i took a l o t of liberties with this prompt but i hope you like it :) i was very excited to write for you so i hope i did you proud!
> 
> thanks to my group chat for all the moral support on this one, and thanks to Emily and Michelle for your lovely feedback.

Harry’s father’s library has always been something of a sacred place, at least for as long as Harry can remember. Ever since he was a child he recalls creeping down the palace stairs at night, poking his head through the door where his father always left it cracked open. The king would catch his eye over the rim of his thick, round spectacles and smile warmly at him, pull him into his lap and read to him from his history books even though it was long, long after Harry’s bedtime. As time went on Harry no longer relied on his father’s sweet voice to tell him the lore of the land they called home; he learned how to read and write for himself, discovered that history is as important to a kingdom as its future. He learned everything he could about his country, and what was left of it, and kept records of his own, journal upon journal of notes the future historians would be able to look back upon.

It’s fitting that that’s where Harry’s father finds him today, folded up on his favorite armchair near the wide, dusty window, scribbling in his notebook. Harry has to be ready in a matter of minutes, he knows, but he can’t stop writing, can’t stop documenting every thought whirring in his head.

The notebooks, at some point, became more about Harry himself than the happenings of the kingdom. It’s hard not to keep note of his own life sometimes, and though he does his best to keep accurate, objective notes about the people and the land, he finds that quite a few pages are filled with his own excitements and anxieties about someday inheriting this kingdom to rule as his own.

“I know, I know,” he says, meeting his father’s eyes. Harry has perfect eyesight, to his chagrin; he’s always admired the way his father’s thick spectacles look when perched upon his nose like that. He only wears them indoors, doesn’t like to wear them in front of people that aren’t Harry, Gemma and their mother. He thinks they make him look childish, but Harry’s only ever known them as the thing that makes his father so unique, that makes his father everything Harry wants to be someday. 

“You keep saying that, and yet you’re still in here,” his father says. His voice has grown textured with age, grainy and rough where it used to be smooth and soft. “I’m beginning to question if you really do know.”

“I know,” Harry says again, this time through a chuckle. “It’s my coronation day, arguably the most important day of my life.”

“Arguably?” his father tuts, holding out his hand to accept the journal and quill Harry thrusts at him. “Arguable against what?”

“My wedding day,” Harry shrugs, rolling his neck and ignoring his father’s wince at the resulting crack. “The birth of my children, their coronation, the birth of my grand-” 

“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself,” his father laughs, pressing the journal and quill back into Harry’s hands once he’s on his feet. “There are going to be many most important days of your life,” he says. “This is just one of them, but it’s _arguably_ the absolute most important so far.”

“If we’re going to be technical, do you not think that my birth was the most important day of my life? I mean, if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be here right now, so I suppose-”

“Lord, Harry, be quiet,” his father says, laugh echoing around the walls of the quiet library. It’s so much smaller now, or so it seems, from how Harry remembers it from growing up. Maybe it’s just that he’s grown, or that he’s memorized every shelf and its contents like the back of his hand, but somehow Harry swears the walls have grown tighter.

“That’s _King_ Harry to you, father,” Harry jokes, grinning at the sound of his father’s fond chuckle. 

“Not quite yet, and possibly not ever if you don’t bloody get out there and accept the crown,” his father jokes right back, escorting Harry out of the library with a hand on his shoulder. He leads him all the way up to his bedroom and stops him at the door, squeezing his shoulder a bit to signal Harry to look up at him. “In case we don’t get another moment alone today,” he says, stooping in close. He’s got these little wrinkles beside his mouth that only form when he’s being serious, and Harry’s grown to recognize them like he recognizes his own name. “I’m proud of you, Harry. I’m proud of you, and of everything you have already accomplished, and everything you will accomplish. This is not easy for me, to hand over my kingdom and accept my work as complete, but it makes it easier to know I’m handing it to you. I cannot imagine a set of characteristics more admirable than yours, and I have not a single worry that you won’t be the perfect king.”

Harry feels his stomach settle, the anxiety he didn’t know he was harboring easing out of his body. He’s always been affectionate, so it should come as no surprise when he throws his arms around his father’s neck and squeezes, but his father still grunts in his ear and chuckles like even after all this time, he’ll never get completely used to Harry’s quirks.

“Thank you,” he breathes, burying it into the shoulder of his father’s tunic. “Thank you, father. I will not let you down.”

“You never could,” his father assures him, patting his back gently. “Now, get dressed. The crown will be ready when you are.”

-

It’s late. The sun went down hours ago, and with it went the party. There are still lights here and there across the kingdom, illuminating the rolling hills like tiny stars beneath the massive expanse of real stars in the sky. Harry can see his breath when he lets out a little puff of it, so cold it hurts his lungs when he breathes back in. 

It’s surreal, looking out upon the country like this and knowing that, for the first time, it’s all his. He’s been dreaming of this moment his entire life, and it’s finally here. He’s the king, King Harry the First, and it’s on his shoulders now to carry on his family’s legacy.

His gaze sweeps to the east, where the channel cuts through the land and empties into the sea. He lets his mind wander back to his history books, eyes tracing over the ruins at the edge of the kingdom where the bridge used to connect the west to the east. Once upon a time, the country was ruled as one, before a rebel group seized the east and burned the connecting bridge. Ever since, the two kingdoms have ruled in isolation; the Kingdom of Styles in the western portion of the country, and the Kingdom of Tomlinson in the east.

It’s only been three centuries, a total of five generations, Harry being the fifth. No one, not even Harry’s father or the history books he has poured over his entire life, knows what started the ancient feud. People have their theories and tensions remain high between the two kingdoms to this day, but ancient discourse has washed away with the tides and the two kingdoms dare not to interact; it would be a short trip by boat across the channel, but no one cares enough to make it.

History has always been interesting to Harry. He never understood how a disagreement so flagrant as to break up a country could be lost with time, or how two entire kingdoms with nothing but a channel separating them never thought to come together to figure it out. Harry’s always hoped he could find a way, once he became king, to reunite the two kingdoms, to bring them back to harmony and dispose of all the hatred. At the very least, he’d like to find out what caused them to break away in the first place, and why no one has been successful in reuniting them thus far.

Harry doesn’t know much about the Kingdom of Tomlinson, but then again, nobody does. He can see it from here, can see the lights in their houses glittering across the channel. He can even see the King’s palace, way in the distance, a gray ghost against an endless black sky. He wants so badly to communicate with them, to see if they have more information than he does. He wonders if it was his family who did them wrong, if there’s some kind of ancient mistake he can repair, or if it was the other way around, if maybe he could aid the King of Tomlinson in relieving himself of his family's mistake. 

He’s voiced these thoughts to his father before, many a time, sitting together in the library reading the history of the land that once was theirs and the land that still is. “You mustn’t attempt to reunite the kingdoms, Harry,” his father would tell him, eyes wide and round through his thick, thick glasses. “There will be chaos. People will revolt. They will hate you as much as they hate the Kingdom of Tomlinson. The feud may be long dead, son, but let us keep it buried.”

Harry got that, he really did. He understood his father’s concerns, even shared them, in some respects. But what he still could not grasp was why people should continue to live in fear and hatred of one another if the option of coming together exists, if the option of learning to love and respect each other is right in front of them if they would just open their eyes and look for it.

He spends a long time out on the balcony, chin in his hand, gazing out over the channel at the kingdom he’ll never get to visit. He’ll find a way, he believes, to make it work, to reunite the two estranged kingdoms. He’ll bring them back together in harmony and he’ll make history, he’ll be the greatest king that the Kingdom of Styles has ever known. He’ll be a name people remember for centuries, the king that reunited a hate-poisoned country. _King Harry_ , they’ll say, _yes, the king of whom we learned in school and whose legacy we still sing of today._

He’s still dreaming of it when the window slides open behind him, but he doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. There’s only one person who would think to disturb him like this, and he can hear her heels clicking against the marble as she shuffles out behind him.

“It’s freezing out, Harry,” Gemma says, worming her hands under his arms and resting her chin over his shoulder. 

“That’s King Harry to you,” Harry grins. It’s hardly the first time he’s said it today, and he doubts he’ll tire of it any time soon.

“Stuff it,” Gemma murmurs, her breath tickling against his ear. “You’ll always be my little brother, I can speak to you however I like, king or not. Besides, I could have been the queen, if I wanted.”

“But you wanted me to have the crown,” Harry says, voice fond. He isn’t ignorant of the sacrifices Gemma has made for him; she’s the first born, inherently the one to receive the crown. She claims she never wanted it, though, that she was never destined to be a queen. She’s always found joy with the children of the kingdom, caring for them and helping them learn, doing endless charity and selfless deeds.

“Don’t make it all about you, I just didn’t want it,” she says, but her voice is soft and careful enough that Harry knows he’s right. Gemma will never admit it, but she always knew Harry was meant for the crown, and she’s always been selfless enough to let him have it.

“I love you, Gem,” Harry hums, resting his cheek atop her head. Gemma slips her hands forward through Harry’s arms and hugs him, her cold hands balled into fists against his chest.

“I love you too, Harry,” she smiles, squeezing him tight. “Now let’s go inside, it’s too cold out. Don’t want our new king to freeze to death on his first night, hm?”

Harry doesn’t fight her, follows close behind her as they climb back through the window into Harry’s bedroom. Gemma gives his shoulder one last little squeeze and then leaves him alone, closing the door softly on the way out.

Harry changes out of his dress clothes and into his bed clothes, leaving the curtains open so he can still see the lights of his kingdom once he climbs into bed. He doesn’t blow out the light just yet, grabbing his journal and quill from his bedside and leafing through to his first empty page.

 _Today, I am king_ , he writes, reveling in the way it feels for those words to finally be true. _And someday, I will be the king who reunites the Kingdoms of Styles and Tomlinson, as they always should have been._

-

The first six months of Harry’s kingship go as well as he could have hoped for. He’s a responsible leader, keeps peace within the kingdom and is well respected by his people. His two advisors, Liam and Niall, are the best he could imagine, and the three of them are doing an incredible job keeping the kingdom in order. 

Harry voiced his thoughts on reuniting the Kingdoms Styles and Tomlinson upon meeting his two advisors, but they’ve yet to give him much input on how he could go about proposing the merge. Liam, the more practical of the two, thinks he should wait until one or both of the kingdoms is in some kind of economic recession or otherwise political downfall, and then propose it, so that both kingdoms have something to gain. Niall, on the other hand, the more outspoken advisor, believes Harry should just give up on it and let things be good enough.

The thing is, though, this isn’t good enough for Harry. Sure, he has the rest of his life to be a notable king, but he wants to be notable _now_. He wants to bring the two kingdoms together and he wants to do it early on, wants to be the one to facilitate the merge until it seems like the two kingdoms were one all along. He doesn’t want to wait, but everyone he’s turned to thinks waiting is the right choice, so he supposes he has to trust them.

That is, of course, until a declaration of war from the Kingdom of Tomlinson shows up at his palace.

He’s in his father’s library when Niall and Liam come bursting through the doors, Niall brandishing the scroll like a madman while Liam tries fruitlessly to calm him down lest he rip the document.

“Your highness,” Niall pants, all but throwing the scroll at him. It bounces off Harry’s chest and he frowns, putting his journal down and scooping the scroll up from his lap. “It just arrived, your majesty.”

“What is it?” Harry murmurs, sitting up a little as he unrolls the document. His face pales as he reads over the words inked carefully onto the paper.

“A declaration of war, your highness,” Liam says gravely. “From the Kingdom of Tomlinson.”

“I bloody see that, Liam,” Harry says, eyes sweeping over the page. “But why? What did I do?”

“Their king is a bit, well, hot headed, I suppose,” Liam says, chewing his lip anxiously.

“He’s a demon, more like,” Niall interjects. “I’ve heard he’s downright awful, and probably a terrible king, as well.”

“Anyway,” Liam rolls his eyes, “his family has been trying to overthrow yours for centuries. It’s one of the reasons the kingdoms split, according to some legends, but the Kingdom of Tomlinson has never been quite as strong as the Kingdom of Styles.”

“So what’s changed now?” Harry asks, carding a hand through his hair and looking up at Liam.

“Their king thinks this is their opportunity to strike. They think you’re peaceful, and therefore weak, and that if they declare war on you now, while you’re still relatively new to power, they’ll finally be able to overthrow you and claim your kingdom for the Kingdom of Tomlinson,” Liam winces.

Harry huffs a breath, looking back down at the document in his hands. It’s written in neat, small letters, with ink that’s about to ruin all of Harry’s plans. “Why does peaceful equate to weak?” he spits, standing up and throwing the scroll onto the chair by the window. 

“You’ve shown no strength so far as a ruler,” Niall shrugs, looking sheepish when Harry turns his glare on him. “In, um, in the militaristic department, I mean. Your highness, you’ve had no additional training for your military since you took the crown, you’ve done shite for your borders, and you’ve had next to nothing in terms of foreign affairs. Strategically speaking, this is the ideal time for another kingdom to overthrow you.”

Harry can’t breathe. He can’t breathe because it’s true, and he knows it; he’s known all along he should be strengthening his military, enforcing his borders and making nice with his allies. He’s been so focused on peace, on being an inclusionary king instead of a divisive one, he let it all slip through his fingers.

“Absolutely not,” he says, locking eyes with Liam, and then Niall. “I will not go to war. I will negotiate, and we will come to a peaceful conclusion.” Liam and Niall share a brief look, and Harry rolls his eyes. “And as soon as we’re done,” he adds, “I will strengthen my military. How unreasonable is it to suggest we pay the Kingdom of Tomlinson a visit by boat?”

Liam and Niall share another, more panicked look, and Harry nods once. 

“Your highness-” Liam starts, but Harry cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“We’ll go by boat first thing in the morning, and we’ll have a chat with-” he picks up the scroll again, eyes scanning over the words, “King Louis. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.”

He sends Liam and Niall on their way, then, to have someone prepare a boat and a driver. He then goes straight to his head of military to make sure they’re keeping up with their training, because something tells him they have some lost time to make up for.

-

The wind feels like sandpaper against Harry’s face, cold and grating. He tugs his coat closed tighter over his chest and hunches forward, trying to limit the amount of surface area of his body available to the wind. It snowed at some point last night, a light dusting of it glittering in the early morning sun. It’ll probably melt before noon, once the sun really gets around to warming up the air.

The water is rough, and they’re moving across the current, which makes for a pretty unenjoyable ride. Harry thinks he might be sick over the side of the boat before they even get to the Kingdom of Tomlinson, and he’ll have to negotiate still green in the face. A particularly rough wave knocks against the side of the boat and Harry grips the edge of the small bench he’s perched upon, swallowing hard and focusing on his breathing.

“Alright, your highness?” Liam asks quietly, leaning into his side for privacy. “Would you like to turn around?”

“No,” Harry says through his teeth, peeling his eyes open and staring straight ahead. They’re not terribly closer to the shore of the Kingdom of Tomlinson than they were a few minutes ago, at least not from what Harry can tell, but they’re closer to where they’re going than they are to where they came from, and he’d rather suffer the rest of this trip than suffer an entire war. “I’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t have my sea legs.”

“If it helps, your majesty, we’re not on the sea,” Niall says cheerily. “This is only the channel. The sea would be much rougher, and probably colder-”

“Thank you, Niall,” Harry grunts. “That’ll do.”

It takes no shorter than another hour and a half before they hit the other shore, and Harry is the first one off the boat. He takes a few laps up and down the beach to regain his composure, until his head is no longer swirling and his stomach has mostly settled. The fisherman whose boat they borrowed stays behind to make sure the mooring holds, while Harry, Liam and Niall set off up and over the dunes, finding a wall of soldiers on the other side.

“Gentlemen,” Harry greets, doing his best not to sound as exhausted as he is. 

“State your name and your business,” one of the soldiers barks, his voice harsh and loud. Harry sighs a little and straightens up, leveling him with his most impressive, royal scowl.

“King Harry the First, of the Kingdom of Styles,” he says evenly. “Here to have a word with King Louis, if I may.”

The soldier blinks, but he doesn’t back down quite yet. The other soldiers forming the human barricade shift a little, looking between each other, like they don’t quite have a procedure for this.

“It’s alright, gentlemen,” Harry assures. “If you’ll point me in the direction of the King’s palace, please.”

The soldier that appears to be in charge falters and then turns on his heel, and Harry takes it as a cue to follow him. The soldiers lead them, in their neat little line, down a dirt path away from the beach and onto a cobblestone roadway, one that looks eerily similar to the ones Harry knows so well. He supposes they all used to be the same, but the resemblance is still unsettling.

Liam and Niall scramble to keep up, and they’re led to a carriage waiting by the mouth of the road. The soldier murmurs something to the driver and then opens the door for Harry and his ensemble, and without a moment to spare they’re off down the road, the quiet ticks of horses’ hooves bringing them through the kingdom to the palace looming in the distance.

“Should I have soldiers lining my beaches?” Harry wonders aloud, gazing out the window at the kingdom as it passes by. It’s strikingly similar to his own kingdom, but there are differences that three centuries of estrangement are bound to bring about. “I probably should, right?”

“Seems a bit unnecessary,” Liam shrugs. “You’re known for being a peaceful king, aren’t you? Not sure the same can be said for King Louis.”

“Valid point,” Harry snorts, eyes falling on Liam’s face. He seems pleased with himself, probably for Harry’s response to his comment, but he also looks nervous. Harry knows Liam worries a lot, which makes him quite good at his job, but it also unsettles him to no end. He can’t help but feel as though they’re traveling toward their death with every step of the horses’ hooves, watching Liam’s pale, sullen face.

Niall, on the other hand, just looks happy to be there. He’s taking in his surroundings like a child at a fair, eyes all but sparkling as he gazes out the window of the carriage. The two of them are polar opposites, but they balance each other out in wonderful proportion, and Harry thinks he couldn’t have asked for two better advisors, or friends. And, yes, maybe they’ve only known each other for the couple of months that Harry’s been king, but he won’t hesitate to say that they’re his two closest friends.

Harry’s never had many friends in his life. Growing up, he was only allowed social interaction with the children in the kingdom in small doses. He was always being tutored, or trained, always in etiquette lessons or maths lessons or politics lessons, learning everything he’d need to be king one day. Liam and Niall, for the few months he’s known them, seem like they’ve been with him all the while. They bicker and banter like old friends, they’re honest and remarkably kind, and they’re able to draw a line between work and play when Harry brings a bottle of wine to the library after dinner to discuss politics and the latest game of polo. Harry wouldn’t be able to do any of this without them, and he’s grateful for how well they’re able to work with all of his lofty ideals.

The carriage bumps down several cobblestone streets before slowing to a stop, and Harry leans over to peek out the window at the palace at which they’ve arrived. It looks similar to his own, albeit a bit more gothic, long dark drapes covering the windows and heavy iron knockers hanging from the dark wood front doors. The driver of the carriage opens the door for them hastily and bows as they climb out, doesn’t look up again until they’ve ascended the front steps of the palace. Liam sets about knocking on the door and then the carriage is off, bumping down the street the same way they came with little regard as to what comes of them now.

It seems as though the palace is expecting them. Harry barely has to state his name and business before they’re ushered inside and through a maze of corridors, welcomed into a warm sitting room at the back of the palace and offered tea while someone fetches his majesty Tomlinson. 

Harry spends the few moments of interim inspecting his surroundings, gazing out the impressive window at the courtyard at the back of the palace. It, too, is covered in a thin layer of snow, but as it melts Harry can see a wonderful garden, probably rich with fruit trees and sweet smelling flowers during the summer months. Harry thinks maybe he should spend more time thinking of his own garden, if maybe he should add a few more fruit trees, perhaps some rose bushes here and there.

He takes a seat before King Louis arrives, glancing over at Liam and Niall. They’re sharing a loveseat sofa near the fireplace, murmuring between themselves anxiously. Harry sits up as straight and king-like as he can manage, staring ahead at the forest green velvet armchair waiting, empty, directly across from his own. The room is all dark woods and rich tones, smells earthy like pine and smoke, probably from the fire crackling away to his left. It’s cozy, and Harry thinks he’d be comfortable here if he wasn’t in the situation he’s currently in.

He’s terrified, to be frank. He’s only a kid, after all, hardly twenty years old and still so, so new to being king. He doesn’t know for absolutely sure how to negotiate his way out of a war, doesn’t even know if it’s possible. What if King Louis is some old, seasoned king with decades of experience under his belt and he’s able to talk Harry in circles, get him so dizzy and confused he’s able to just sweep his feet out from under him and take over his kingdom? What if, even worse, he just murders him right here and now, gets it over with fast and saves himself the trouble of going to war? Oh, Harry’s father will be so disappointed in him, as will the entire kingdom. Harry will make history, alright, as the worst king there ever was, the king who let down his kingdom in only a matter of months.

It’s only another moment before the heavy door creaks open. Liam and Niall scramble to their feet, but Harry is slower to rise, keeping his expression calm and even as his eyes fall over the man that enters the room.

He’s young, is Harry’s first impression. He’s maybe only a few years older than Harry himself, with a well-groomed beard and soft, caramel colored hair. He’s trying to look older than he is, and he’s doing a superb job of it, but Harry can tell by the softness of his skin, the lack of wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, he’s got no more than maybe half a decade on Harry. 

“King Louis,” Harry bows slightly, keeping his eyes locked on the other king’s. “King Harry the First, of the Kingdom of Styles.”

“Pleasure,” Louis says shortly, gaze unwavering as he takes the seat across from Harry. Harry sinks back into his own seat, eyes flickering up at the slightly older man that positions himself behind Louis, jaw set and eyes kind, but still boring into Harry’s skull. “James, my advisor,” Louis introduces him as an afterthought, gesturing to him over his shoulder.

“Liam and Niall, my advisors,” Harry says, glancing over at the two other boys. They stand like they aren’t quite sure what to do with themselves, until Harry jerks his head discreetly and they shuffle behind him quickly, taking stance on either side behind Harry’s chair as James is behind Louis.

Louis huffs a quiet laugh, quirking his eyebrow at them. “Two advisors, hm? Your kingdom can’t trust you with just one?”

“I believe that the more input a king can receive, the better, but that’s neither here nor there,” Harry says, giving Louis a tight smile. “Thank you for meeting with us, your highness. I’d like to discuss the declaration of war I received yesterday.”

Louis smirks, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, the picture of nonchalance. “Was I not perfectly clear, your highness? I’ve declared war on you,” he says, like Harry is incapable of understanding.

“Got that bit,” Harry smiles patiently. “I was just hoping you could explain why? What have I done to provoke this? And, furthermore, is there anything I can do to avoid going to war with you?”

“Are you afraid of war, King Harry?” Louis wonders, looking terribly smug. Harry can feel his blood beginning to boil, but he hides it well. “What have you to be afraid of, hm? I’ve heard magnificent things about you, King Harry; you’re a worthy king, and I’m sure your military is up to snuff as well, no?”

“You’ve heard correctly,” Harry says, forcing another sweet smile that makes Louis’s expression falter. “However, I believe war may be unnecessary, and I’d like, your highness, if you could please explain why you believe otherwise.”

Louis looks downright annoyed, probably because he isn’t unsettling Harry in the slightest, at least not that Harry’s letting him see. He’s a bully, Harry can tell, gets off on having the upperhand, and Harry will be damned if he lets him have it.

“I believe, _your highness_ ,” Louis says mockingly, “that it is unnecessary for there to be two separate kingdoms in this country. I would like a chance, if you please, for the stronger kingdom to make itself known and to, in turn, be the prevailing kingdom in a united country.”

“So you think you can conquer me?” Harry says, cocking his head a little. He definitely has the upperhand now, his cool facade poking holes in Louis’s own.

“I didn’t say that, your highness,” Louis smiles back, rage burning behind his eyes.

“Then you’re looking to be conquered?” Harry says, leaning forward just slightly. Legs parted, eyebrows raised, hands folded neatly in his lap, Harry is in clear control of the situation. He’s not quite sure how he landed himself here, but Louis fidgets, uncrosses his legs and sits up straight.

They stare each other down for a long moment, Louis’s face hard and annoyed while Harry’s remains cool and aloof, the picture of confidence. Harry hopes Louis can’t tell that his fingers are trembling, hopes he can’t hear how hard his heart is beating from across the room.

“I’ve declared war on you, King Harry,” Louis says finally, his tone suggesting that the conversation is now complete. Harry hasn’t quite gotten all of his answers, though.

“I understand that, King Louis, I truly do. Do you not think it would be wise, though, to see if we could not come to a verbal consensus before men have to die in what I believe is a wasteful spitting contest?” Harry says.

“I just want to restore this country to it’s rightful state, the way it always should have been,” Louis says calmly, like he’s attempting once again to regain the upperhand.

“Trust me,” Harry smiles peacefully, “I want the same thing.”

“So you accept war?” Louis assumes, tilting his head toward Harry, looking satisfied with the notion that he’s won.

“I do not,” Harry says firmly. “I would like to negotiate verbally,” he repeats. If Louis keeps up like this, Harry’s going to lose his cool and let Louis get the best of him. It’s so frustrating, his stubborn, rhetorical arguing, and Harry needs to take a few deep breaths before Louis really sets him off.

“Alright, let’s negotiate!” Louis says cheerily. “I want to rule the entirety of the country. Are you going to let me, or are we going to war over it?”

“I’d appreciate,” Harry says quickly, too harshly, schooling his expression back to a peaceful one before he continues, “if you’d stop undermining me, your highness, and if we could, perhaps, speak like adults?”

Louis scoffs, leaning back in his chair again, clearly thinking he’s won. He hasn’t. “You’re hardly an adult.”

“And you are?” Harry hums, letting his eyes sweep over Louis’s body. 

The smug smile drops from Louis’s face, a deep scowl replacing it instantly. “Alright,” he concedes, to his obvious disdain. “I’ll call off the war, and give you one week to prepare for negotiation. If we are not able to come to a consensus one week from today, however, I will declare war again, and this time, I will follow through,” he assures.

Harry nods once, giving King Louis his sweetest smile. “That seems fair, your highness. Thank you for your time.”

They stand as if on cue, maintaining their piercing eye contact as they bow shallowly toward one another. Louis and James exit the room first, and a servant appears a moment later to escort Harry, Liam and Niall out of the palace. There’s a carriage waiting for them out front to take them back to the channel, and once they’re inside of it with the door safely shut behind them, Harry buries his face in his knees and screams.

“You handled that remarkably well, your majesty,” Niall chuckles, patting Harry’s shoulder comfortingly.

“That man,” Harry growls, looking up at him, “is infuriating. I’d like to go to war with him just to chop his fucking head off.”

“All you have to do is keep your wits about you,” Liam says, “and I believe you can win this negotiation. He’s hot headed and short tempered, and if you don’t give in to that, you’ll be able to get the best of him.”

“What are we even negotiating?” Harry sighs, rubbing at his face. “I want to reunite the kingdoms, as well, but bloody not if he’s going to be in charge.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Liam shrugs, patting Harry’s knee firmly. “We have a week.”

\- 

The three of them spend the following week holed up in the library, brainstorming and practicing Harry’s negotiation skills. Niall is playing the part of Louis quite poorly; he’s too cheery to be as brutal as King Louis, and he lets Harry win too easily. He’s giving Harry false confidence, according to Liam, which isn’t going to help him when he’s actually arguing with Louis.

They don’t even have a solid plan to argue for yet, anyway. They keep finding fault with every suggestion they come up with, and Harry has no idea how to propose that Louis give up his kingdom and let Harry rule the whole country at once.

“How about,” Niall suggests, hanging upside down on an armchair with his legs thrown over the back of it, “you propose that the kingdoms reunite under the same name, but he can keep ruling the east and you can rule the west? That way you can both still be kings, but only of certain parts of the kingdom.”

“No,” Harry murmurs, from where he’s sprawled on the floor, writing in his journal. “There’s no point to that, really. We might as well just keep the kingdoms separate, and he’s not going to accept that. He wants the whole kingdom and he wants to be in charge of it,” he reminds him.

“Harry’s right,” Liam says. “What if we just throw history at him? We can argue that since the kingdom originally belonged to your family, you should have sole control over it should the two halves reunite. He said he wants to restore the country to how it always should have been. Well, doesn’t that mean putting your family back in power?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs. “But that’s not good enough. He wants one power over the country, and he wants it to be the stronger king. He’s still going to propose that we go to war, and whoever wins takes control,” he says.

“I think Liam’s onto something,” Niall says. “There’s no way he can argue against history.”

“And there’s no way I can win a war against him,” Harry admits. “I don’t know, let’s save that for our last resort. We need something foolproof, something that he’s going to want to agree with.”

And so the week goes, all three of them giving each other headache after headache trying to work out a plan. Harry’s about ready to just give up and accept the war, when finally Liam bursts into the library the day before they’re set to go back to the Kingdom of Tomlinson and negotiate.

“You might hate this,” Liam says, Niall close in tow, looking for all the world like an overexcited puppy. “But I think we have the solution.”

“By all means, Liam, keep stalling,” Harry bites, pushing his journal away from him on the desk and waiting for Liam and Niall to take their seats.

“What if we take Niall’s idea from the other day, about reuniting the kingdoms but keeping two kings, but instead of him ruling the east and you the west, you rule it all together?”

Harry blinks, waiting for Liam to say he’s just playing, he’s not serious. No such remark comes, though, so Harry blinks again and frowns.

“We rule it together?” he says tiredly, rubbing at his face. “And how do you propose I stay sane?”

“He did a shit job of explaining it,” Niall says, lurching forward in his chair and pushing Liam out of the way. “Basically, you’re both the kings of the same kingdom. You can be in charge of certain things, your strengths; for instance, domestic affairs and policy. King Louis can be responsible for his own strengths, the things you’re not so experienced with, like foreign relations and the military. You can both play to your strengths and back each other up, and you’ll be the strongest nation since, I don’t even know, Liam, what’s a strong nation?”

“You’ll be unstoppable,” Liam rolls his eyes, shoving Niall away gently. “You’re both extremely talented leaders with strong opinions and clear goals, and if you work together instead of against each other, this country could be one of the most powerful countries in the world.”

Harry considers it for a moment, leaning back against his chair and playing idly with the quill in his hand. It’s true, he and King Louis are both remarkable leaders, but in different facets. If the two of them were to team up, back each other’s skills and rule the kingdom together, well, they could be amazing.

“I think,” he says softly, nodding once, “that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. In fact, I think it could work.”

Liam and Niall beam at each other, clearly chuffed with themselves for finding the solution. Harry can’t help but smile as well, because finally he has hope of getting his kingdom out of what would no doubt be a tragic war, and he’s seriously going to go down in history as one of the most important kings ever.

“All we have to do now is figure out how to make him buy it,” he says. The joy slips off Liam and Niall’s faces, the promise of even more work looming ahead of them. “C’mon, now, you don’t get to be heroes just yet,” Harry laughs. “How do we sell this to King Louis?”

Niall looks at Liam and Liam sighs, waiting for Harry to open his journal so he can take notes before he launches into his detailed attack strategy.

-

The next morning finds them making the horrendous trip across the channel again, but this time Harry isn’t so worried about how things are going to go. He’s got his journal in his satchel and he’s got Liam and Niall by his side, and he’s confident that they can make King Louis agree to share control of the kingdom. He’s so confident, in fact, that he doesn’t let the boat ride make him seasick, and he’s as steady on his feet as ever as they march up to the wall of soldiers.

“King Harry, of the Kingdom of Styles,” the soldier greets him, his smile mocking and sinister. Harry bets this man has no idea what’s about to happen. “We were told to expect you this morning. You’re right on time.”

“Of course I am,” Harry hums, not missing a beat as the soldier turns to lead them to the carriage waiting at the road. The three of them climb in wordlessly and the soldier gives him another sarcastic nod before they set off, the familiar sound of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone marking the time until they get to the palace.

“I didn’t like that guy’s attitude,” Niall mutters. “He seemed cocky. Wonder what King Louis has been telling them about you?”

“Probably that he’s going to destroy me in war,” Harry says. “Bloody hell, this negotiation better go our way.”

“It will,” Liam says, his voice as confident as ever. That’s saying something, Harry supposes, because Liam is hardly the optimistic one of the men in this carriage. 

King Louis and his advisor, James, are already waiting when they arrive at the palace. They don’t meet in the sitting room, this time, but in a small meeting room upstairs, with windows that face out the front of the palace. From where Harry sits at the head of the long table, directly opposite King Louis, he see the whole Kingdom of Tomlinson stretched out like a blanket before the magnificent blue sea cuts it off. He can’t see the channel from where he’s sitting, but he’s sure that if he got up and looked closer, he’d not only be able to see where the bridge used to lie, but also his own palace off in the distance.

Harry takes a moment to appreciate the other king and his advisor; Louis is shuffling through papers before him on the table, while James watches and makes a comment here and there, points to something specific on the page. James is an older gentleman, not terribly old, but he definitely has a few years on Louis and Harry both. He’s a bit plump, but not unpleasantly so, and Harry gets the feeling just by sitting near to him that, under different circumstances, he would probably make lovely company.

“Thank you for your patience, King Harry,” King Louis begins, glancing up at him sheepishly. “You’ll forgive my disarray, I hope. It’s been quite a week of forming my argument.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Harry assures, smiling patiently. “I’ve also had quite a challenging week.”

“Challenging, hm?” Louis smirks, and just like that, all pleasantness that could have been found in his demeanor is gone, the illusion shattered. “Well, I’m anxious to hear what you’ll propose. I’ll go first, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Harry nods, with a gentle flourish of his hand. King Louis nods back, his expression only a hint sour, and begins his argument.

“Well, as you already know, I believe that there should be one kingdom where there are currently two, and I believe I should be the one to rule it,” he says, reading off the page in front of him. Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes, remaining attentive to the speech. “In my objective opinion, I am the stronger leader of the two of us. I have been in power longer than you have been, and with all due respect, I have shown greater progress in my ability to rule. My kingdom knows and loves me, and I’m sure the people of your kingdom will learn to do the same once the borders are knocked down. There is no reason for our kingdoms to live in isolation from each other any longer, and I believe that since I am the king with more experience and more dedication to my people, I will be the best choice for the leader of the country.”

Harry lets him finish, nods his head and pretends to consider for a moment. “Fair argument, your highness, but may I add a few comments?”

Louis nods him on, so Harry gives him a small smile and launches into it. “First of all, King Louis, I’d like to point out that you have only about a year’s worth more experience than I have, and in that time, you’ve done nothing incredibly remarkable. You’re an excellent king, of course, and one completely worthy of ruling the entire country, but I cannot help but see that argument as invalid. Objectively, you are no better or worse than I, so I do not see why you should be in charge of the entire kingdom.”

“It may not look it, King Harry, but what I have done here so far _is_ remarkable. My kingdom has a sense of nationalism so strong it cannot be countered, my military is the strongest I have ever seen and my borders are protected with the utmost care,” Louis argues. “Can you say the same?”

“Well,” Harry sighs, “no, I’m afraid I can’t. Which is why, your highness, I would like you to hear me out for a moment.”

“Go on,” Louis hums, that horrible smirk back in place. Harry hardens his skin and doesn’t fall for it, folding his hands neatly in front of himself at the table, leaving his journal closed and staring unblinkingly into Louis’s eyes. 

“We are both extremely competent kings,” he says. “You have your strengths, some of which you’ve mentioned already, and I have a specific set of skills that make me a great leader, as well. There are some areas of expertise in which you are superior to me, and similarly, there are areas in which I am superior to you. We have a common goal here, King Louis, and it’s been a goal of mine for as long as I can remember. We both want to reunite the country. We want our people to behave as one, to love each other and respect each other and thrive as brothers, instead of enemies. 

“This is why I’d like to propose that we combine our kingdoms, and rule them equally. We both have complete power, but we share it. You’ll be in charge of the military, the foreign relations, protecting our borders and our country and making sure we are strong and worthy. I will control our domestic affairs, our policies, our inner workings and our laws and our national identity. Together, we could build the strongest nation in the world. With your strengths enforcing my strengths, and mine enforcing yours, I believe we could make history as the most powerful kings of the most powerful nation anyone has ever seen. Our collaboration could be legendary,” he says, grinning at the thoughtful smile on Louis’s face. “What say you, your highness? Could this be our solution?”

“If I’m honest, King Harry,” Louis says, glancing at James and then back at Harry, his eyes shining a little, “I don’t hate the idea. What concerns me, however, is the idea of meshing our kingdoms, and how our people would react to it. We have hated each other for three centuries, how do we make all of that bad blood go away?”

“That will be difficult, yes,” Harry concedes. “I do not believe it will be a problem for long, though. I don’t think anyone needs to feel disdain toward one another; after all, it’s not as if one of us won something, or one of us lost. We are simply coming together, extending our borders; people should feel no need to protect their nationalism against their own nation, correct? Especially a nation that was a nation once before. We are coming back together, coming home, and I think our people will respect that.”

Louis nods slowly, staring down at the table as he takes it all in. Harry shares a hopeful glance with Liam and then Louis looks up, nodding once. “I like it. I am impressed, King Harry, but I believe you’ve got me on your side.”

“That was easy,” Harry mutters, but he’s elated, breathtakingly relieved that he’s managed to avoid war.

“I don’t love the idea that I’m sharing my kingdom with you,” Louis admits, “but I am tempted by the promise that you’ll handle the things I struggle with, and I will be able to focus on the things I’m comfortable with without having to worry about everything else. We could be the greatest team that the world has ever seen,” he says, voice rich with excitement. 

Harry nods proudly, locking eyes with him for the first time in agreement instead of challenge. “We can make history,” he promises.

-

They spend the rest of the day in the meeting room, fireplace crackling quietly in the background. They discuss how they’re going to make this work, which duties will be assigned to whom, which duties they’ll share equally. It all comes together, surprisingly, and King Louis seems rather thrilled with the turn of events. Harry’s just relieved they don’t have to go to war.

“I believe our first order of business should be physically reuniting the country,” Harry says, sipping at the cup of tea he’s just been delivered. It’s past noon, and they’ve all missed lunch, but there’s too much to figure out to waste time eating. “I think we should rebuild the original bridge, and perhaps come up with a few other ways to cross the channel, as well.”

“We could have some ferry boats,” Louis suggests. “Could create some jobs.”

“Would be nice for the fishermen in the off season, as well,” Harry agrees, scribbling quickly in his journal. This is history he’s penning, for sure; future historians will hold these very pages in their hands, and understand every step of the thought process involved in reuniting the country.

“Yes,” Louis agrees, watching him curiously. “Why do you write everything down?”

“Here we go,” Niall mutters, slumping a little in his seat. Liam flicks him scoldingly, but Harry just grins, always pleased to explain his journaling habits to those who will listen.

“For history,” he says. “I believe history is the most important resource a kingdom can have. Without it, how would we know of all our past mistakes and misfortunes? Forgotten history is tempted to repeat itself, you know, so it is important that we keep records.”

“Oh,” Louis says, eyeing the journal. “So you’re just making sure your name goes in a book in good favor?” he smirks.

“No,” Harry splutters, resisting the urge to clutch his journal to his chest like a child Louis has just upset. “I just want to make sure that what we do here remains well documented. It has nothing to do with my name, or my legacy,” he says.

“Right,” Louis snorts. “You don’t care a wink about your legacy, hm? They could write you into history as the worst ruler that ever walked on two feet and you’d be alright, as long as they got all the facts correct?”

Harry blinks, dropping his gaze from Louis’s eyes to the dark wood table. 

“That’s what I thought,” Louis says. “Everyone cares about their legacy, King Harry. And I don’t blame you for wanting to leave good things for the historians to find. You’ll do better to tell the truth, I think. The whole truth. Especially in my company,” he advises.

Harry stares down at his journal, reading over his own words again. Of course he doesn’t want to have only good things written about him, Louis’s got it all wrong. He truly just cares about accuracy, about making sure the future turns out as well as it can, even if he’s only influencing it from the past.

The thing is, though, he’s not sure Louis _is_ wrong. Harry’s so, so worried that he won’t be able to live up to his father’s legacy, that he won’t leave as good an impression on the kingdom as he did. He’s only ever wanted to be a good king, a remarkable one, memorable. Sure, his father wasn’t the most revolutionary of leaders, but he is immortalized in his kindness, his thought and his ability to love each and every person he encountered, to teach them to do the same. Harry wants a legacy like that, wants to be someone worthy of memory when he’s gone. 

“Harry?” someone says, and Harry snaps out of his thoughts, meeting Louis’s expectant eyes.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

“I was wondering your thoughts on how we should go about announcing the merging of the kingdoms,” Louis says. He must be able to read something on Harry’s face, something Harry himself isn’t aware of, but that calls for his next remark. “You know what, I think we’ve put quite enough work in for now. I propose we have an early dinner, and maybe come back to it after? You’re welcome to stay the night, of course, King Harry, and your advisors. I’ll have some rooms made up for you.”

“That’s very generous of you, thank you,” Harry says, watching as Louis sends someone off to get dinner started. “Right, so, about your question-”

“Let’s think on it for a bit, hm? We’ll discuss it after dinner,” Louis smiles, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. Harry follows suit, allowing Louis to lead him out of the room and down the corridor to the stairs, Liam, Niall and James following quietly.

Louis pulls him aside once they enter the dining room, gently tugging on Harry’s elbow to signal him to stop just inside the doorway. He leans close and speaks low enough that no one else will be able to hear, and Harry resists the urge to pull away from him just a little.

“I hope I didn’t upset you with my remark upstairs,” Louis says. He seems earnest, and Harry appreciates it. “You needn’t feel guilty for wanting to leave a good legacy. I want the same. But I was not bluffing about telling me the entire truth; I do not appreciate being lied to, King Harry, nor do I fall for it terribly easily. It will behoove you to be completely honest with me. If we will rule this country together, we will not keep secrets from each other, nor will we demonstrate false ambitions. Neither of us will leave a good impact on this country if we cannot be completely truthful with each other. Understood?”

Harry nods, feeling a lot like he’s being told off. He wants to strike back and tell Louis he doesn't appreciate being spoken to in that manner, but at the end of the day, he knows Louis’s right, and this isn’t the hill he wants to fight and die on. He agrees, after all, that they need to be truthful to each other, and he supposes he can deal with feeling a bit silly for a moment.

“Completely,” he says softly, giving Louis a tentative smile. “Can I be truthful about one more thing?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” Louis says.

“You’re an admirable leader,” Harry says, nodding once. “But give me the chance to be the same. Neither of us have the upperhand in this situation. We’re a team, and I’d like to act like one,” he says firmly.

Louis grins, eyes sparkling. Harry’s a bit thrown off guard, until Louis claps a hand down on his shoulder and squeezes.

“Absolutely,” Louis says, maintaining piercing eye contact. His smile is so wide it’s almost unsettling, but Harry smiles back by some force unbeknownst to him. “This is what I’ve been waiting to hear. You are an admirable leader as well, Harry. I think we’ll make an excellent team.”

With that he turns on his heel, walking with soft clicks of his shoes across the marble floor to take his seat at the head of the dining table, making small talk with James and Liam while Niall stares up at Harry, beckoning him over with nothing but his gaze.

Harry takes the seat at the opposite end of the table from Louis, smoothing his tunic and glancing up at Niall. Niall shifts his seat a little closer, nodding once at Harry as if to ask if he’s okay. Harry just smiles in reply, and, surprisingly even to him, it’s genuine.

-

Getting ready for bed in a palace that isn’t his is odd. He settles down between the silk sheets of Louis’s guest bedroom and stares at the unfamiliar ceiling, wondering where they go from here.

They had more productive discussion after dinner, as Louis promised, and Harry thinks they’re in a pretty good place to start the merge of the kingdoms and finally bring the country back together. They’re going to start with spreading rumors, getting people to start talking before they make the official announcement so that it doesn’t come as a complete shock. People are not going to be expecting this, and they both think it would be unwise to drop it on them out of nowhere. They’ve got a good starting point as far as their policy and methods; they were never terribly different on those in the first place, which make it easy to come to an agreement about how to run the kingdom in a way that appeases both of their opinions and concerns. 

The one thing Harry isn’t quite sure of yet is how they’ve decided is the best way for the two of them to be a team. It seems silly for the two leaders of a nation to live in two different palaces, so far away from each other. It was easy to suggest that they move in together, but Louis’s stubborn argument didn’t allow Harry much choice. Louis’s got the bigger palace, somehow, and resides on the side of the country with the most space and resources for the military and the kingdom as a whole. He’s promised Harry a room of his own, a room for Liam and Niall both, as well as everything the three of them could ever need. This will become Harry’s palace as well, to share equal ownership of with Louis, which Louis has already expressed is quite alright with him. They’ve agreed to clear one of the small sitting rooms at the back of the palace for Harry to build a library of his own, one that echoes his father’s library that he’s going to have to leave behind.

He’s not thrilled that he won’t get to stay in the palace in which he was born and raised, but he supposes that if that’s all it takes to make this entire thing work, it’s not the worst sacrifice he could be asked to make. His family will remain in that palace, anyway, and though Harry will miss them dearly once he moves in with Louis, they will only be a carriage ride across the bridge away.

The bridge will commence construction at the end of the week, after they formally announce the merging of the kingdoms. The bridge will be the symbolic connection between the two halves of the country, the thing that finally ties them together, and it will be strong enough to persist through whatever struggles they may go through as a nation. Harry feels as though all of his dreams are finally coming true, even if they’re not exactly how he always imagined.

He turns over in bed and glances out the window, smiling at the little lights twinkling back at him from the kingdom homes. It’s not his yet, the land he’s looking at, but it will be soon enough.

-

“Harry,” his father greets, scaring Harry half out of his skin. He hadn’t bothered to even knock on the door before entering the library, and Harry has been elbow deep in his journal for hours. “What’s this I’ve heard about there being a merging of the kingdoms?”

“Where did you hear that?” Harry asks, closing his journal and sitting up. They did start a few rumors this morning but Harry’s shocked that it’s already gotten around to his father, since all they did was have a soldier mention it to a fisherman down by the beach.

“Niall told me in the corridor just now,” Harry’s father says, eyes narrowing. “Harry, what have you done?”

“Niall,” Harry groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Niall means all the best, but he needs to work on thinking before he acts.

“Harry, we’ve discussed this. Reuniting the kingdoms is a terrible, costly idea. The Kingdom of Tomlinson _hate_ us, Harry, their people hate our people and, frankly, we feel the same about them,” his father says. “Son, I don’t know what illusion you are operating under but this cannot work, this _will not_ work, and you need to put a stop to it now!”

“Father, you don’t understand,” Harry says. “This wasn’t even my doing. This all came about as a preventative measure against the Kingdom of Tomlinson declaring war on me.”

“War?” Harry’s father splutters. “You thought merging the kingdoms was the best response to a declaration of war?”

“Let me explain!” Harry says, exasperated. “King Louis, of the Kingdom of Tomlinson, wanted the same thing. He thought that if he declared war on me, he could conquer me and, in turn, take over the kingdom. He would have merged them anyway, so we negotiated. We’re working as a team, father, we’re ruling the nation together. We’ve got it all worked out and, to be honest with you, I really think it’s going to be a great decision,” he says, smiling hopefully.

“Harry,” his father mutters, jaw clenched. The smile falls from Harry’s face immediately. He’s never seen his father this angry, or even very angry at all, and he hates that it’s directed at him. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. You’d have done better to have actually gone to war, defeated him and conquered him, instead.”

“I couldn’t have, though,” Harry interrupts. “Come, father, we both know my military isn’t strong enough to defeat his. He’d have slaughtered all of us and taken the kingdom over, at least like this I’m still in power! What does it matter if we’re both kings?”

“This is the worst thing you could’ve done,” his father says again. “God, Harry, what were you thinking?”

“I’ve told you what I was thinking,” Harry spits back. “And I’ll kindly remind you, father, that I am the king of this kingdom, not you. This is my decision to make and I’ve made it, so what are you going to do?”

He’s shaking, hands clenched in rage. He doesn’t like to be undermined, especially not by the one person whose respect and admiration he’s always worked hard to maintain. He’s about to really get into it when he doesn’t get a response, but his entire body goes numb when his father looks up at him, eyes full of tears.

“You have no idea, Harry. No idea.”

 _Then tell me_ , Harry thinks, but he can’t speak, frozen to the spot. He’s really, royally fucked up.

His father turns to go without another word, letting the library door fall shut loudly behind him. Harry sinks back into his chair, his body numb with the disappointment settling in his bones. Disappointment in himself, for one thing, because he’s upset his father and also maybe ruined the future of the kingdom, though he’s not sure how. He’s also disappointed in his father, though, because he’s got a sinking feeling that there’s some history he never got to read about it, and he prays that it’s not the type of history that fancies repeating itself right under his nose.

-

The announcement takes the kingdom with a ripple of shock, but no rebellions break out immediately. People take it quite well, in fact, so well that Harry begins to doubt if his father’s warnings held any truth at all.

He hasn’t gotten over it, not really. It’s been nearly a week since he fought with his father in the library, and Harry’s spent every day thinking about this apparent mistake, about how he can go about fixing it if it all really does start heading south. Once the kingdom is made aware of the merge and begins their preparations for the slight changes that will come to their daily lives, though, Harry thinks he had nothing to worry about all along. People are unaffected, even excited in some cases, and Harry doesn’t know what his father thought he had to worry about. 

Packing his things is bittersweet; he’s beyond excited to move into Louis’s palace and begin their laundry list of things to facilitate the transition from two kingdoms to one, but he’s also saddened immensely at the sight of his childhood room all packed away, his things neatly stored in trunks.

Gemma finds him as he’s having one last long look over the kingdom on his balcony, her shoes making a tiny thump as she lands the fall from the window to the balcony floor. He turns to give her a sad smile, and she hugs him from the side.

“Father is disappointed that you’re leaving,” she tells him, like he doesn’t already know.

“Father is disappointed in everything I’m doing,” he mutters, leaning against the railing of the balcony and gazing over toward the channel, where the construction of the bridge is starting. 

“That’s not true,” Gemma frowns. “He loves you, Harry, and he’s so proud of you. We all are.”

“Thanks, Gem,” Harry says. He doesn’t want to get into it, because he knows he’s right. In a matter of months Harry’s gone from being the son of his father’s dreams to the biggest embarrassment of his life, and he can’t be convinced otherwise.

“I’m serious,” Gemma says. “I know he’s not happy about what you’re doing right now, but you can prove him wrong,” she says. “You’re gonna do amazing things, Harry, and no matter what, he’s always going to love you.”

Harry can’t help but smile, resting his head on top of Gemma’s for a moment. They watch the kingdom for a few moments in silence, until Harry pulls away and looks down at her again.

“Hey, Gemma?” he hums, pursing his lips when she looks up at him. “Do you know why the kingdoms split in the first place?”

“No?” Gemma frowns. “No one does.”

Harry nods, turning back to face the channel. The bridge is going to take ages to finish, but when it’s done, it’s going to be beautiful, he knows it. He wishes he knew why it was burnt down in the first place.

He says goodbye to Gemma and his mother in the front hall once all of his trunks are packed and ready for the trip to Louis’s palace, but his father follows him out to the carriage before they say their farewells. It’s cold out today, but not as cold as it’s been. The sun is shining down on the kingdom, making the ice sparkle as it melts on the thatched rooftops of all the houses scrawled up and down the cobblestone roads Harry grew up running down.

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder before he can climb into the carriage. “I am not pleased with what you’ve done, and I am terrified of what’s to come, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less proud of you. I hope you’ll prove me wrong for being scared about this,” he says quietly.

“I will,” Harry promises. “I wish you had more faith in my judgement.”

“I have all the faith in the world in you, Harry,” his father says. 

“I also wish you’d prepared me better for this,” Harry says. He lowers his voice, stooping close for a moment. “Is there something you didn’t tell me about why the country split into two kingdoms?”

His father blinks, chewing the inside of his lip. “The best of luck, Harry,” he says after a moment, avoiding Harry’s eye. “I love you, do us proud.”

Harry swallows hard and turns away without another word, climbing up and into the carriage. Liam and Niall are already inside, waiting for him, and as soon as he settles into his seat, the driver cues his horses and off they go.

“Everything alright?” Liam asks gently. Harry schools his scowl into a vacant expression, nodding his head without turning away from the window.

“Is your father upset?” Niall asks sheepishly. “My apologies for blurting it out to him, I was just so excited-”

“It’s fine, he’ll get over it,” Harry says. “I’m going to prove him wrong, like he wants me to.”

“What was the whispering about?” Liam asks. “Is there something-”

“Nothing,” Harry cuts him off, leveling him with a firm look. “Absolutely nothing.”

Liam nods quickly, ducking his head and looking away. Harry goes back to staring out the window, watching house after house with their soft glowing windows, shutters opened wide to let the sunshine in. There’s still smoke puffing out of chimneys all across the land but spring isn’t terribly far, and everybody is eager to welcome it into their homes and gardens.

The sun doesn’t make the boat ride across the channel any less miserable, still cold and rough and long. Harry narrowly avoids getting sick over the side of the boat, nearly cries with relief once they reach the shore. There are several pages waiting to help carry their trunks from the boat to the carriage that will take them back to the castle, and Harry thanks them as generously as his sour attitude will allow.

It’s not that he’s not excited to be moving in with Louis, or to be starting a new chapter of the kingdom’s history. He feels belittled and betrayed by his father’s unwillingness to share information he obviously knows, feels like his father is willingly allowing him to walk headlong into what he surely feels is going to be a tragic mistake. He doesn’t understand why his father wouldn’t tell him, or even worse, would outright lie to him for his entire life, if he knew the real reason the kingdoms split. His father was always the one preaching about the importance of history, and that learning about it will make it less likely to repeat itself. Harry has no idea who his father thought he was helping by never letting Harry find out, and he has no idea what’s going to happen now because he didn’t.

-

Harry’s bedroom is put together well before bedtime, but Harry spends most of the evening wandering around the castle on his own. He peeks into the room cleared out for his library, the trunks upon trunks left in the middle of the room to be sorted through and organized later. He digs for the packet of matches in the pocket of his trousers and lights the oil lamps by the fireplace, settling down on the floor in front of one of the trunks and pushing it open, surveying the books piled inside.

It takes a few minutes for him to find his journal, and then another few minutes to find his quill and inkwell. There’s not a desk in here for him yet, so he settles for sprawling on the soft rug, leafing through his journal to the first empty page.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the way he writes. He jots down everything on his mind, all the substantial thoughts he had throughout the day. He’s careful not to mention his father, though, because if there’s one thing he never wants the historians to find out about, it’s how silly and small he feels today.

He feels like a child, like he’s still stumbling around the palace in his father’s too-big loafers pretending to be him. It feels like too relevant a metaphor today, as Harry stumbling around in his own shoes, doing his best to fill them before he can move on to filling his father’s.

It’s cold in this room. The fire hasn’t been lit all day, because no one has been in here, too busy getting Harry, Liam and Niall’s rooms settled. Tomorrow they’ll be getting this room in order, moving in the bookshelves that a woodworker from the kingdom built for him and getting all of Harry’s books organized in them. Right now it’s simply a ghost of what it’s going to be, and Harry can feel the chill nipping at his toes. 

Still, he doesn’t move. He keeps thinking, keeps writing until it’s late, until the sun is gone from the sky without even a trace and the only light left is from the lamps, flickering like cheap candles over the pages of his journal.

He jumps when someone knocks on the open door, peering around the doorway at him. He expects to find Liam, or maybe Niall when he glances up, but he’s surprised to see Louis, looking soft and unlike himself in just his bed clothes and a pair of silk slippers.

“I wanted to say goodnight to you,” he says, shuffling into the room. Harry sits up from where he’s been laying on his belly for hours, brushing a careful finger over his page to make sure the ink is dry before he closes the journal. Louis sits down on the floor with him, soft linen sleep shirt hanging low on his chest. “I’m excited that you’re here. I think we’re going to do great things together.”

Harry smiles gently, capping his inkwell and placing it carefully back inside his trunk, along with his journal and quill. He doesn’t say anything, closes the trunk with a muffled thump and then meets Louis’s eye again, both of them unhurried to get off the floor and up to bed.

“What were you writing about?” Louis asks. “Saying nice things about me to the historians?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Harry chuckles. “It’s been a, um, a strange day for me.”

“Was moving difficult?” Louis says knowingly. “I can’t imagine leaving this palace. But I’m glad you’ve decided to come here with me.”

“Moving was difficult, yes,” Harry shrugs. “It was also just, I don’t know, leaving my family. My father and I have always been so close, but now I feel a world away from him. And not just physically,” he says quietly.

Louis hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything in return. He looks down at his knees and Harry watches him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

“Louis?” he says suddenly, without really meaning to.

“Yes?” Louis says, raising his eyebrows at Harry. Harry hesitates, looks into his blue, shadowy eyes, dim in the light from the lamps, and knows he could ask Louis anything, and Louis might even know the answer. They’re a team, so Louis would have nothing to hide from him, said it himself just the other day. The thing is, Harry doesn’t know if he’s totally ready to hear it.

“We should get to bed,” he says, voice quiet. Louis can clearly tell it’s not what he meant to say, but for some reason, he doesn’t push.

Louis nods, pushes himself up off the floor and extends a hand for Harry, helping him to his feet. They walk together up the staircase and to the end of the corridor, where Harry’s new bedroom is to the left, facing the front of the palace, and Louis’s is all the way at the end. “Get some rest,” Louis says, leaving him with a lingering touch to his shoulder and a challenging smile. “We’ve got work to do in the morning.”

Harry smiles in return and lets himself into his bedroom, shuffling over to his wardrobe to find some clothes for bed. The room is warm, a small fire crackling in the opposite wall from his bed. Harry changes into his silk top and trousers and leaves his day clothes in a neat pile by the door, tends the fire just a bit to make sure it’ll last through the night, and then climbs into bed.

He watches out the window for a long while before he falls asleep. He can only see the stars from this angle, but if he sat up, he’d be able to look out at the channel and most of the eastern part of the kingdom, as well. He falls asleep still thinking about everything he doesn’t know, everything he’ll come to find out in time, or so he hopes.

-

Things are good, almost too good to be true, and Harry can’t for the life of him remember what he was so worried about upon moving in with Louis.

The two militaries mesh seamlessly, even though Harry’s is a bit less formally trained, and before long they have one of the biggest, strongest militaries in the history of the kingdom. It took some debating, but they’ve decided the kingdom, now completely merged, will be called the Kingdom of Styles, as it always was. Louis isn’t terribly happy with that decision, but he was able to see Harry’s logic, and it only seemed fair Harry finally got what he wanted after dropping everything to move to Louis’s palace. They haven’t known each other long, but they’re getting good with compromise.

It takes a few weeks for Harry to grow completely used to it, to go to Louis first when he needs help instead of going to Liam or Niall. Liam and Niall are still helpful, of course, keep their eyes on the kingdom with help from James, as well, but Harry finds he and Louis make such a good team they hardly ever really require help from their advisors.

Harry finds that he kind of enjoys Louis’s company, which is odd, especially because Louis is no less abrasive now than he was the first day they met. He pokes and prods at Harry’s business, personal and otherwise, and Harry thinks it should irritate him, but somehow it only makes him want to get to know Louis even better, find out what he can poke and prod back at.

He’s in his library for the third evening in a row, which is now fully furnished and quite lovely, if he says so himself. He ignored three different announcements for dinner and is sure he’s missed it by now, but he’s wrapped up in a book. He’s pretty much exhausted all of his resources for history of the Kingdom of Styles, but now he’s got a whole new reading list with the history of the Kingdom of Tomlinson’s rather short existence. Louis leant him all the books he had lying around and Harry’s been engrossed in them for days, desperate to find out everything he can about the kingdom he’s always dreamt about.

There’s a short knock on the door and Harry ignores it once again, curling up a little tighter in his armchair and hugging his book close, staying focused on the words. He’s reading a biography of Louis’s great great grandfather, the marvelous king that he was.

“King Harry,” rings out a voice, and a head pokes through the door into the room. There’s only one person that would dare open the door without permission, so Harry doesn’t bother looking up. “You’ve missed dinner, your highness. You needn’t worry, though, your generous co-king saved you a hearty plate of leftovers,” he grins. 

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry mumbles, eyes not straying from his page. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Louis asks, slipping the rest of the way through the door and closing it behind him. “Have you even eaten since breakfast? You’ll die if you don’t eat, you know. You’re a good king, but you won’t be if you’re dead,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees blindly, nodding once. “Sure, alright.”

Louis huffs, plopping down in the chair behind the sturdy wooden desk by the window. “So you agree we should go to war? I’m so glad, I’ll have James write up the declaration now.”

“What?” Harry says, dropping the book and looking up. “Wait, what? War?”

“Ah, so you were listening,” Louis smirks, leaning back in his chair and picking at his fingernails. “I could have sworn I was being ignored.”

“You are infuriating,” Harry tells him matter of factly, picking up his book again. “Did you have anything important to say, or shall I go back to ignoring you?”

“Everything I say is important,” Louis huffs indignantly, leaning over the desk to snatch the book out of Harry’s hands. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Your family’s history,” Harry says, letting the book go without a fight. It’s easier to not put up a fight around Louis; he usually wins, anyway. “A lineage of very strong men, clearly. I do wonder, though, if they were all as insufferable as you are?”

“You act as though you hate me, Harry,” Louis pouts. “I’ll have you know that, yes, all the men in my family are just as remarkable as I.”

“Good,” Harry says, snatching the book back easily and settling down in his seat. He gets a few moments of silence before the piercing sound of a chair being dragged over the wood floor cuts through the air, and then Louis is right next to him.

“Pay attention to me,” Louis says, right in his ear, making Harry jump and drop the book into his lap again.

“Christ, what?” Harry bites, looking up into Louis’s worried eyes.

“Why did you skip dinner?” Louis asks, grabbing the book and tossing it onto the desk. The binding creaks and Harry winces, resisting the urge to snap at Louis for being careless with such important things.

“I was busy,” Harry says, hands itching to reach around him and get the book back.

“You were reading,” Louis says. “There’s plenty of time to read. Read all night, if you must. I don’t like when you skip dinner, and you’ve done it a lot recently.”

“Why do you care?” Harry asks, genuinely curious. “If you’re worried I’ll die, don’t be. I’ll have the leftovers in a bit, alright?”

“I’m not worried you’ll die,” Louis says. “Well, not immediately. I am worried you’ll tumble headlong down the stairs on your silly bird feet and break your neck, but it’s not on my list of top fears,” he admits.

Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Alright, then, why?”

“Believe it or not, _your majesty_ , I don’t hate you,” Louis says. “I quite like spending time with you when we’re not making decisions about the kingdom’s future. Dinner, for example, is time with you that I hold dear,” he says.

Harry blinks. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Louis says, looking slightly offended that Harry apparently has any doubts. “Remember what I told you about being honest with each other? That includes this. I’d like us to be friends, Harry, perhaps not before rulers of this kingdom, but, I’d like our friendship to be important,” he says.

Harry flushes, giving Louis a small smile. “I didn’t know you thought of us as friends,” he says.

“I will, as soon as you start showing your face at dinner,” Louis smiles back, standing up out of his chair. Harry goes to reach for his book, but Louis steps in his way, watching him with narrowed eyes. “How do you feel about the game of darts?”

And so goes the rest of their evening. Louis enlists a page to bring a bottle of wine to the games room in the back of the palace, and they split it while they take turns throwing darts, purposefully neglecting to keep score so they can keep bickering over which one of them is better. Harry actually hasn’t eaten since breakfast, so he gets a bit too loose a bit too fast, throws a dart and lands it about three feet to the left of the board and giggles for far too long. Louis makes the decision to sit and finish the bottle of wine without any dangerous game playing, which gives Harry ample opportunity to stare at Louis, watching the way he sips and swallows and sighs a little after.

“Where’s your family?” he asks after a while, when Louis’s a bit pink in the cheeks and his eyes are a little hazy, too. “I mean, my parents and sister lived in our palace even after I became king. Where are your parents?”

“They’ve a house in the kingdom,” Louis says, pouring himself a bit more wine and settling back in his chair, gazing at nothing. “It’s a tradition for us, for our family. Thought you’d have read about it, what with all the reading you’ve been doing.” At Harry’s resulting frown, Louis smiles thoughtfully and continues. “They moved out shortly after my coronation. My family believes that it is best for a new king, or any king, for that matter, to be alone in his palace to ensure purity of his decisions. I think it is wise; I know that had I my father looming over my shoulder, every decision I made would have been biased. Without him here, I am sure to make my own decisions, be my own man, my own king.”

Harry hums quietly, sinks down in his chair and considers that. He thinks Louis is right. Every decision he made in his father’s palace felt exactly like that: a decision made in his father’s palace. He’d been too reliant on his father’s approval, his opinion. Harry didn’t make a decision for himself until he left, until he made a decision in Louis’s palace. The thing about Louis’s palace, though, is that it doesn’t feel like Louis’s palace anymore. It feels like their palace.

Harry spends most days in _his_ library, a library all of his own that he doesn’t associate with his father at all. He’s got rooms in this palace he’s never seen his father inside, rooms in which he and Louis make decisions that his father doesn’t get a say in. Harry rules this kingdom, and for the first time since his coronation, it really feels like it.

He downs the rest of the wine in his glass and reaches for the bottle again, and Louis smiles as he watches him pour out the last few drops. “I’ll have a page fetch your dinner,” Louis says, his voice as gentle as the feeling of his fingertips stroking over the back of Harry’s hand, comforting, reassuring. “You’re quite drunk.”

Harry answers with a long gulp of his wine, and before he knows it, there’s a reheated plate of pork and potatoes in front of him. Louis stays with him while he eats, tells him stories about his family and they laugh together, like they’re friends, like Louis wants them to be. Like they both want to be.

“I love my father,” Harry blurts out suddenly, once Louis’s done telling tales of his own parents. “I really do, Louis. He’s a marvelous man, the absolute best,” he says. Louis nods, doesn’t doubt him. For some reason, Harry wishes Louis would challenge him like normal. “He made me the man I am. I always wanted to be just like him, ever since I was little. I think he’s the greatest king the world has ever known,” he says.

“That’s lovely,” Louis hums, eyes crinkled at the corners. Harry likes it when he smiles. 

“Yeah,” he says, mostly having forgotten what they were talking about. “Louis, I like that we tell each other the truth. All of it.”

“I like that too,” Louis assures, taking his last sip of wine and leaving the empty glass on the table between them. Harry stares at it, picks it up and inspects the smudge left by Louis’s bottom lip. 

“My father didn’t do that,” he says, putting the glass down with a clatter. “The truth. Not the whole truth, like us. He didn’t-” Harry cuts off with a small hiccup, frowning at Louis’s glass.

“I think we should go to bed,” Louis says carefully, lips pulling down into the most delicate of frowns. His lips are so small, look like they would feel like velvet to the touch. Harry can match up every tiny bit of his lip to the smudge on the glass, can trace the exact curve with his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at them too hard. 

He follows Louis up the stairs, keeps his eyes trained on Louis’s delicate little ankles, his naked feet. Louis refuses to wear shoes inside, says it makes him feel trapped. Harry always wears at least socks; it makes him feel contained, not confined, like he’s all securely in one piece but not in a way that feels constricting.

He grabs Louis’s wrist before they get too far down the corridor, pulling him back a step so they’re close, but not too close, just close enough that Harry can speak so that Louis will hear him but he won’t wake the whole palace.

“Thank you for saving my dinner,” he says, his whisper somehow still too loud in the silent corridor. “I’ll wait for you in the morning, and we’ll have breakfast together, alright? And then perhaps we can take a walk to the channel. I’d like to see how the bridge is coming along,” he says.

Louis smiles at him, so close Harry can see every one of his little crooked teeth. On second thought, maybe they are just a tad too close.

“I like that idea,” Louis says. He pats Harry’s cheek once, firmly, but not so firm that it hurts. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Louis,” Harry breathes, shuffles to his bedroom as Louis takes a few long strides down the corridor to his own. 

Harry doesn’t bother with bed clothes, strips out of his day clothes and falls into bed in his pants. He falls asleep without trouble, without worry, with the knowledge that when the sun wakes him shining in his eyes through his open curtains he’ll go and find Louis and they’ll go together to the dining room, and then down to the channel. Maybe he’ll even convince Louis to walk downtown with him, buy lunch from one of the local shops, help their economy while building a bond with their people. Then they’ll come back and Harry will do some more reading, perhaps some writing, and then Louis will come fetch him for dinner and they’ll dine together again. Maybe someday Harry will even get better at telling the truth, the whole truth, and he’ll learn how to ask it of Louis, as well.

-

Breakfast becomes a thing before long.

Harry wakes up early and gets ready, bathes and dressed and waits in his bedroom until he hears Louis get out of bed as well. He shuffles out to the corridor to wait for him, and every morning Louis greets him with a smile brighter than the sun peeking over the horizon and leads him down the stairs to the dining room. 

He’s really starting to enjoy Louis’s company, like maybe they’re becoming friends, like Louis suggested. Louis is still as obnoxious as ever, still pokes and prods and points out all of the things Harry would really rather he didn’t, but he finds himself always coming back for more, even when he snaps at Louis for being rude. He can’t stay away for long, can’t help but come back for more of Louis’s searing honesty and his quick wit. 

It’s just that Louis is helping him learn so much about himself, so many things he never realized until Louis pointed them out. Harry feels like a completely different person than the one who lived in his father’s palace, and he’s really loving the feeling.

Breakfast turns into lunch and lunch into dinner and suddenly they’re making sure they take every meal of the day together, if only so that they can tease each other over which of them deserves the bigger piece of bread for all he’s accomplished that day. It feels like friendship, like home, like with every passing day their bond grows stronger and so, in turn, does their kingdom.

“King Harry,” Louis greets him, as he takes his seat across the table. He’s a bit late, but Harry won’t point it out like Louis would were the roles reversed. “Do you think you’d like to accompany me upstairs after dinner? I’d like to discuss some politics with you, if that’s alright, but I’d also quite like to be in bed a bit early tonight.”

“My pleasure, King Louis,” Harry hums. The formalities are no longer sarcastic, instead they are admiring and perhaps even a bit fond. “Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly,” Louis assures, giving him the warmest of smiles. “Just wondering your viewpoint on a few things.”

He follows Louis up the stairs after dinner and into his bedroom, takes a minute to look around while Louis sets about closing the door and toeing off his shoes. His room is quite nice, not much different from Harry’s, with a crackling fireplace nestled between the two grand windows overlooking the darkening kingdom. It’s only gotten colder as the months have gone on, a heavy blanket of snow lying thick over the kingdom’s streets and houses. It’s warm and cozy inside Louis’s bedroom, and Harry settles down on the corner of the bed, gaze still fixed on the view.

“The country is so beautiful this time of year,” he sighs.

“It is,” Louis agrees, somewhat distracted. Harry glances over at him, his throat going a bit dry with surprise when he finds Louis looking down, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, chest naked and smooth. Harry adverts his eyes quickly but Louis doesn’t seem to notice, getting the rest of the buttons open and letting the shirt fall to the floor, a flutter of soft white fabric.

“So, you wanted to discuss some politics?” Harry says, his voice rushed and croaky. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but something about seeing Louis in any state of undress has him feeling flustered and like his knees might wobble were he standing.

“Yes,” Louis says, and when Harry looks up again, he’s dressed snugly in his bed clothes, covered appropriately once again. Harry’s doing his best not to be disappointed, to his absolute horror. “Do you want to go get changed out of your day clothes? This is just a casual conversation, no need to be dressed formally,” he shrugs.

“Uh, that’s,” Harry stutters, blinking once as Louis sits down on the bed next to him, heat radiating from his body like he’s got his own personal fireplace inside of him. “That’s alright, I think.”

“Suit yourself,” Louis says, shuffling backwards on the bed so he can cross his legs in front of himself, looking for all the world like a schoolgirl at a slumber party. Harry can hardly breathe, for some reason.

“So, uh, so politics, then?” Harry breathes.

“Right,” Louis nods. “I was wondering, Harry, if you think it’s best we encourage the kingdom to come together as one, or let them be? I mean, I know there is still some sense of nationalism on either side and we shouldn’t try to erase that, in my opinion, but do you think we should be encouraging more interaction and collaboration?”

Harry thinks it over for a moment, forcing his brain to consider something that isn’t the soft patch of skin in the center of Louis’s chest, his fleeting memory of it.

“Possibly,” he shrugs. “On the one hand, I don’t think we should try to erase history; you know my stance on that. But I also believe it would do wonders for the kingdom if the two halves could become one, not that they’re still terribly divided, anyway.”

He catches Louis’s eyes again, sees them sparkle with something like pride. Pride in what, he doesn’t know, but he misses the next words out of Louis’s mouth while mulling it over. He can’t draw his eyes away, somehow, held without mercy by the light from the fire dancing in Louis’s eyes, the way the soft flicker washes over his skin and makes him look ethereal, like a creature from the storybooks his father read to him when he was a child. Like this, he isn’t King Louis. He’s just Louis, and he’s breathtaking.

“You seem tired,” Louis says, startling him out of his trance. “Would you rather go to bed? We can discuss this another time,” he offers.

“Yes,” Harry says, standing up too quickly, his knees cracking loudly like they’re not prepared for what’s happening right now, either. “Yeah, I should sleep. I’m exhausted,” he lies, hopes Louis won’t press him for the truth because he genuinely can’t figure it out himself.

“Alright,” Louis says, shuffling back on the bed again until his back hits the headboard, slipping his legs beneath the sheets easily and pulling them over his lap. “Goodnight, then. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

“See you at breakfast,” Harry echoes, turning on his heel and marching out of the room. He thinks about going to his library, grabbing his journal and filling up a few pages with the feelings lodged in his chest, panicked but also at ease, longing but also dreading.

He figures his journal doesn’t need to hear about this, and the historians can be spared the details. He doesn’t quite know what’s happening, why having Louis change in front of him and then look so soft and sweet in his bed clothes is throwing Harry’s mind for a loop. He thinks maybe sleeping really is the best option, thumps down the corridor to his room and throws his bed clothes on, doing his best not to picture Louis tucking himself up into his bed, soft and warm and cuddly under the sheets. His own room is just as warm, the fire crackling quietly in the fireplace, but he feels cold, chilled as he slips under the covers and presses his face into his pillow. 

Somehow he falls asleep, and his mind spares him the anguish of stressing over the ball of feelings sitting in the center of his chest for another day.

-

It takes until late spring for the bridge to be finished. As soon as the barricades used to keep people out of the construction zone are pulled away, people begin to flood over in waves, eager to see the side of the kingdom that has been lying just out of their reach for their entire lives. Harry and Louis are there, of course, to oversee the opening of the bridge, to welcome people to the new kingdom, finally reunited as one.

Harry can hardly believe it, watching faces he recognizes from his kingdom growing up come over the bridge, into what was, until recently, the Kingdom of Tomlinson. This is everything he’s ever dreamt of, and it’s all coming true. 

The day is spent taking walks over the bridge, meeting the village people and welcoming everyone home. Harry is elated, and though he knows Louis is standing back and letting him have his moment, he knows Louis is thrilled as well.

They’ve discussed this a lot, especially recently. Since the first night Louis invited Harry to his bedroom, they’ve had a lot more after dinner meetings with just the two of them, and it’s gotten less strange. Harry’s grown used to Louis changing into his bedclothes with him in the room, has even done the same a few times. Their political discussions often devolve into chess on the bed or constellation spotting outside on Louis’s balcony before long. As they’re growing closer, they’re growing more powerful as a team. They’ve hardly known each other half a year, but they are able to come to decisions and conclusions so quickly and effortlessly it’s as if they’ve known each other their entire lives.

Louis knows exactly how important this all is to Harry; the reuniting of the kingdoms, the reconstruction of the bridge, the meshing of the village people. They talked about it late one night, back in the winter, over a glass of wine in front of the fireplace in Harry’s library. He’d told him all about his childhood dreams of bringing the country back together, about how his father always told him it was impossible, about how he loved his father to pieces but always wanted to prove him wrong.

“Well, look at you now,” Louis had said, voice quiet, eyes quieter, flickering in the light of the fire. “You’re proving him wrong now, aren’t you?”

Yes, Harry thinks now, watching people’s gleeful faces as they step off the bridge onto solid ground, surveying their new surroundings. He is proving him wrong now.

“This is amazing,” he says, turning around to where Louis is standing by the edge of the bridge, Niall and Liam half a step behind him. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“It’s happening,” Louis smiles back, and Harry suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he’s beaming, his cheeks aching. “We’ve done something amazing,” Louis says, his voice soft and clear.

Harry laughs quietly, disbelievingly, and turns to look at Liam and Niall. Niall looks as though he’s having the time of his life, but Liam’s watching him carefully, though his eyes are warm.

“Could I have a word, King Harry?” Liam says, once Harry meets his eyes. Harry nods once and Liam takes a few steps back, Harry following. They stop once out of earshot of the others, the rushing sound of the channel and the voices around them giving them a thin veil of privacy.

“Everything alright, Liam?” Harry hums, ducking his head to meet Liam’s eyes, frowning when he sees he’s chewing his lip. He looks worried about something, and Harry’s just worried that maybe he should be worried, as well.

“You and King Louis have gotten quite close, no?” Liam says, finally looking up. Harry nods, still frowning, and Liam glances around, as if unable to look directly at him. “It just seems odd. Your relationship, that is. You’ve gotten so close, it seems as though you’ve completely opened up to him and that’s good, trust me, I suppose I’m just concerned about… the nature of your relationship?” he says, voice faltering, like he knows he’s digging himself into a hole. 

“We run a bloody country together, Liam,” Harry says, voice as hard as his face has become. “Would you rather us be at each other’s throats all hours of the day, or should we not get along?”

“That’s not what I mean!” Liam says quickly, face flushing. “Of course it’s for the best that you get on so well, don’t get me wrong, your highness. It’s just, well, I suppose it’s not normal, you know, for you to do the types of things you do together? As in, after dinner more often than not, you both disappear to his majesty’s bedroom for the entire evening, and you don’t emerge until long after everyone’s gone to sleep. One has to wonder what you are doing in there, all that time,” he mumbles, staring at Harry’s feet.

“We’re not bloody sodomists, Liam, if that’s what you’re implying,” Harry scoffs. He’s sure his face is scarlet, and he’s trying to convince both himself and Liam that it is with annoyance and not embarrassment. “I’ll have you know we discuss politics and the future of this kingdom behind closed doors, as well as during normal daylight hours. It should come as no surprise, I hope, that we both take endless interest in the welfare of this kingdom and it’s people, Liam, and I do not appreciate your accusations,” he hisses.

“I was not accusing, your highness,” Liam says quickly, shaking his head. “Nor was I assuming. I only wanted to check in, your highness, as your advisor,” he says. He’s being honest, Harry can tell, so he unclenches a bit, breathing out slowly. “The kingdom’s welfare is my top priority as well, King Harry, and I hope you won’t take this as an insult as I do not intend it that way, but I needed to make sure your decisions were not going to be in any way detrimental to the kingdom.”

Harry nods, staring Liam down for another moment. “Very well,” he mutters eventually, smoothing out his shirt and glancing over his shoulder, making sure no one has been watching or listening to their conversation. “Thank you for your concern, Liam, but I know what I am doing,” he says.

“Of course, your highness,” Liam says, his voice tiny. “My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Harry gives him a tight smile and turns back to the others, marching back over to plant himself next to Louis and continue welcoming people over the bridge. They head back to the palace before dark, but Harry can feel Liam’s eyes on him all day, watching every interaction he has with Louis. He’s hyper aware of it, of every pair of eyes on them. He wonders how many people think what Liam thought, how many glances they’ve cast between each other when Harry and Louis aren’t looking. Maybe their relationship is a bit odd, all things considered, but they’re doing a marvelous job ruling the kingdom together, so Harry doesn’t see why it should matter anyhow.

Still, he declines Louis’s invitation for chess and a military strategy discussion after dinner, instead choosing to go alone to his library and do some writing, and perhaps some reading. His journal has taken somewhat more of a personal turn, he finds, as he’s been writing a lot more about his feelings and confusions upon sharing his kingdom with Louis than the hard facts.

He spends the majority of the evening in his library, reading the same page of his book over and over again because his mind keeps wandering, and he can’t for his life remember what he’s just read. Part of him hopes Louis will come knocking on the door any moment, and they’ll have that discussion after all and then Louis will do or say something or look at him a certain way from underneath his eyelashes and Harry will grow even more confused. 

It’s late when he finally drags himself up out of his armchair, fits his book back into the bookshelf even though he only got through a couple of pages. The palace is silent as he makes his way upstairs, but he doesn’t stop at his own bedroom, his feet carrying him thoughtlessly down the corridor until he’s knocking quietly on Louis’s door, cracking it open an inch to peer in when he gets no response.

Louis is sleeping, of course. It’s past midnight; he probably went to bed hours ago, while Harry was locked away in the library. Harry pushes the door open a little more, just to make sure he’s really sleeping, and then finally turns to leave, defeated, pulling the door shut behind him. It creaks a little and he freezes, staring into the dark sliver he can still see of Louis’s room. There’s a quiet rustle, and then silence, and Harry sighs as he goes to pull the door shut again.

“Harry?”

Harry freezes again, wincing as Louis’s tired voice cuts through the air. He peeks back into the room, finding Louis sitting up in the center of his bed, looking sleep rumpled and confused.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, giving him an apologetic smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is everything alright?” Louis asks, rubbing at his face. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m just,” Harry pauses, watching Louis for a long moment. “Worried. And confused.”

Louis frowns, squinting at him in the dark. “Come here.”

Harry shuffles into the room and pushes the door closed behind him, standing awkward and pigeon toed at the foot of Louis’s bed. It’s no way for a king to stand, he thinks, wishes Louis would call him out for it instead of moving a couple of inches to the left and opening his arms.

Harry crawls onto the bed and settles himself a respectful distance from Louis, but Louis doesn’t seem appeased, not until Harry crawls all the way in and under the covers with him.

“What’s worrying you?” Louis asks, voice quiet and rough. It makes Harry want to shiver, but he refrains.

 _This_ , Harry thinks, resting his head against Louis’s shoulder when Louis wraps his arms around him and tugs him close. _This worries me_.

He doesn’t voice it, decides instead to go with the next best answer. “The meeting next week with the King of Scot. It’s my first important political meeting, I’m quite nervous,” he says. It’s not a lie; he’s been worried about the meeting since it was scheduled, worried about making a good impression and forming a new alliance.

“You’ll be amazing,” Louis says, squeezing Harry a bit. “You’re incredible at talking to people. Take me, for example; I come to you once a week wanting to declare war on someone, and you’re always able to talk me down and negotiate. Hell, you got me to negotiate sharing an entire kingdom with you, what can’t you do?”

Harry cracks a smile, burrowing a little deeper into Louis’s side. “Your confidence eases my nerves,” he admits, “but I’m not sure about this one. Everything’s easier with you, I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”

“You can,” Louis breathes, resting his chin on top of Harry’s head, jaw moving against his skull. “I know you can. Would it make you feel better if I came to the meeting, as well?”

“Yes,” Harry says, looking up at him. “That seems fair, anyway, since this is your kingdom, as well.”

“I’ll be there,” Louis says, rubbing Harry’s back gently. Harry melts into it, eyes fluttering shut. “And I’ll do my best not to land us in any wars.”

Harry chuckles, counting himself down to pull away from Louis’s side. He’s cold as soon as he does, but Louis doesn’t let him get far, meeting his eye and smiling softly.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispers, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “We can discuss it further in the morning, yeah?”

Harry nods, swallowing hard. The moon is casting perfect shadows over Louis’s face, still sleep smudged and soft. He looks beautiful, ethereal, like one of the sculptures outside the village church. Harry feels, to his horror, an overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back another few inches. “Alright. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Louis sings, tucking himself back into the covers as Harry lets himself out of the room. Harry takes his time closing the door, catching one last glimpse of Louis’s eyes falling closed, eyelashes long and dark.

He walks back to his room in a haze, changes into his bedclothes and climbs under his covers, staring at the ceiling for much longer than he’d like to admit. Sleep doesn’t come easy, and he’s dreading the morning, because having to look Louis in the eyes knowing he thought so long and hard about kissing him is just about the last thing he wants to do.

-

The meeting is a smashing success. Harry is pretty sure he’s just secured a new ally in the Kingdom of Scot, and though there’s no treaty written up just yet, he’s not worried. With his negotiating skills and Louis’s undeniable charm, they left the King of Scot undoubtedly impressed. The meeting wasn’t terribly long, and they didn’t do a hell of a lot of policy discussion, but it all went well otherwise, in Harry’s opinion.

It felt good, Harry muses, to be Louis’s partner on their side of the table. He felt powerful, he felt immortal, but he knows he wouldn’t have been able to do it without Louis. They’re an amazing team, possibly the greatest team in recent history, and Harry’s over the moon about it.

They celebrate that night, all of them, with the most expensive wine they can find in the palace and the chef’s best roast. It’s a feast fit for a king, or two, Harry thinks to himself, smiling mindlessly across the table at Louis. Louis’s cheeks are already flushed from two glasses of wine and he’s laughing at something somebody said, something Harry missed. Harry wants to laugh too, so he does, eyes stuck on Louis’s smile.

They go all night, until the food is gone and the wine is down to one last bottle, and people are dropping like flies to excuse themselves and head to bed. Eventually it’s just Harry and Louis left in the dining room, Niall the last to bow out, save for a few tired looking servants. 

“How about,” Louis suggests, reaching for the bottle of wine one of the servants is holding and hugging it to his chest, “we let everyone go to bed, and we can go share this upstairs?”

Harry giggles quietly, glancing at the two hopeful servants inching toward the door. “Of course, you’re excused,” he says, waving them off. They smile at him gratefully and scurry off, as Louis pushes out of his chair.

“A merciful king, you are,” Louis smirks, waving the wine bottle like a lure. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Harry hums, standing up and following Louis up the stairs. He doesn’t bother changing into his bedclothes, just kicks his shoes off by the door and crawls right into Louis’s bed. Louis hands him the bottle and then pulls open his wardrobe to change, not seeming to mind, or even notice, that Harry’s eyes can’t find a comfortable place to rest that isn’t the curve of his hips.

“We don’t have any glasses,” Harry says, glancing down at the bottle in his hands as Louis climbs into bed beside him. Louis takes it from him, sitting cross legged beside him, his knee touching Harry’s hip.

“That’s alright,” Louis shrugs, pulling the cork out and taking a swig right from the bottle. Harry grins, and Louis looks over at him. “Work for you?”

“Works for me,” Harry confirms, accepting the bottle when Louis hands it back. He shuts his eyes tight and wraps his lips around the bottle, swallowing hard and trying not to think too much about how his lips are touching something that Louis’s lips just touched.

“I really like you, Harry,” Louis says, stealing the bottle back. “Really. I thought we might clash when this all started, but we work well together, don’t you think? Look at what we did today! I mean, two young kings, doing something unprecedented, and we managed to charm the hell out of the king of Scot,” he muses.

“You managed to charm the hell out of him,” Harry corrects. “I managed to nail the political talk and land us a new ally.”

“Exactly,” Louis grins, taking a long sip of the wine. “We’re unstoppable, King Harry.”

Something in Harry’s stomach tightens and he looks over at Louis, accepting the bottle without so much as glancing at it. His fingers brush against Louis’s, and then wrap around them on the bottle, but Louis doesn’t pull away.

Harry’s drunk. He’s drunk on wine and high on life, downright hallucinatory with the excitement that’s befallen him today. Louis looks positively dreamy, eyes bright and warm, skin soft and probably so, so nice to touch and then Harry’s touching him, one hand still wrapped around the bottle while his other hand finds Louis’s face, his cheek, thumb trailing down over his lips and chin and then settling on his neck. Louis just blinks at him, peaceful, serene, breath coming slow even though Harry can feel his pulse going haywire under his hand.

Harry looks up to meet Louis’s eyes, but they’re lowered, stuck on Harry’s mouth. Harry’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips and Louis mirrors him, and Harry’s heart swoops a little.

“Louis,” he breathes, realizing suddenly how close they are. Louis blinks slowly as Harry’s breath washes over his face, lips quirking up a bit.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you right now?”

Louis resigns to his smile, grins wide and sighs a long, peaceful sigh. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Then they’re kissing, lips meeting in the space between them and it’s good, it’s so good, everything Harry hoped for. It’s soft and gentle and sweet and someone is laughing, the sound of it muffled but absolutely lovely and Harry realizes belatedly that it’s Louis, and he pulls away to see what’s so funny.

Louis just grins at him and takes the bottle of wine from his hand, reaching around to put on his bedside table before grabbing Harry’s shoulders, tugging him back in and kissing him hard. Harry makes a tiny noise into his mouth and lets his hands find those hips that his eyes love so much, pulling Louis closer to him until Louis is occupying all of his senses, until Louis is the only thing that exists, more so than the kingdom or the bed or even the air Harry is struggling to breathe into his lungs. Louis licks into his mouth and Harry groans quietly, fingers digging into Louis’s hips until finally they break apart.

Harry’s still panting into Louis’s mouth when Louis starts to laugh again, and Harry forces his heavy eyes open to look up at him. Louis is glowing, radiating light, and Harry can’t help but laugh along with him.

“What’s funny?” he asks, swiping his thumb over Louis’s bottom lip. Louis grins and tilts forward, pressing his face into Harry’s neck and laughing a little more.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day you sat in my sitting room and talked about conquering me,” he giggles, mouthing at Harry’s collarbone.

Harry barks a laugh, glad Louis is hiding his face so he can’t see how hard Harry blushes. “Let’s maybe save the conquering for another time, when we’re not so drunk,” he says, stroking his hand down Louis’s spine and holding him close.

“You want to do it again, then?” Louis asks, pulling away just enough to look up at him. He’s still smiling, eyes sparkling. “You want to kiss me again?”

“Yes,” Harry says, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss him again already. “Another time.”

“Another time,” Louis agrees, looking smug. “But also now.”

They fall asleep like that eventually, Harry still in all his clothes with Louis hot and still giggly in his arms. He drifts off with his lips pressed to Louis’s forehead, fingers threaded through his hair, stomach filled with butterflies.

He wakes up the next morning facing the fireplace, tangled up in the covers of Louis’s bed. He takes inventory of his body and finds two arms and a leg that don’t belong to him, realizing with sleepy confusion that Louis is curled up behind him, arms hugging him around his chest and a leg wormed between his own. He presses his grin into his pillow and Louis stirs behind him, humming where his face is pressed into the back of his neck.

This is good, Harry thinks, this is nice, even if it means Liam was right. Maybe this will cause some problems down the line, but right now Louis is wriggling a hand between the buttons of Harry’s shirt to rest against his skin and, well, he’s finding it hard to care about anything else.

-

The world comes crashing down before breakfast. Harry manages to drag himself out of Louis’s arms and to his bedroom to change, and then Louis meets him in the corridor to head down to the dining room. Niall spots them first, face flushed and eyes panicked, but Liam is the first to speak.

“Your highnesses,” he greets, sounding tired and anxious. “Slept well, I hope?”

“What’s wrong,” Harry asks, focusing on Niall. Liam will continue to beat around the bush for formality’s sake, but Harry knows Niall will tell him what he needs to know, though bluntly.

“The country you met with yesterday, King Harry,” Niall says, shaking his head. “The Kingdom of Scot. They’ve declared war.”

Harry blanches, blood running cold in his veins. He blinks once, swallowing hard, and turns to Louis.

“Christ,” Louis mutters, determinedly not looking at Harry. “For what reason?”

“The king found fault with the way you run your kingdom,” Liam explains. “He didn’t like the nature of your relationship, and believes it is no way to rule a country.”

“The nature of our relationship?” Louis scoffs, voice harsh. “What in God’s name does that mean?”

Liam glances at Niall, and Niall winces as he scratches the back of his neck. “He seemed to believe you two were a bit too…close, I suppose, in ways two men should not be. Especially considering, well, you rule a kingdom together,” he says.

“That is preposterous,” Louis spits. Harry flinches, glancing over at him again, finding him red in the face and tense with fury. “How could someone assume our relationship is anything more than friendly? We are co-rulers, and that is all,” he says firmly.

“I don’t mean to argue, your highness,” Niall says, “but everyone in this castle has their suspicions. Not that we mind, of course, but it is not terribly hard to see how someone from the outside might believe something else goes on behind closed doors.”

“Ridiculous,” Louis says, turning on his heel and marching the length of the dining table, wringing his hands. “Absolutely ridiculous. We’ll have to prepare the military, then, and review the terms of the war. We’re ready for battle, of course, though perhaps we could have used a bit more warning. This is so out of the blue,” he mutters, talking wildly with his hands, shaking his head at the floor as he paces the dining room.

Harry feels sick, wants to crumble in his shoes and cease to exist. Their relationship truly has never been anything more than professional, until last night, of course. The idea that someone wants to fight them over it, wants to defeat them and their kingdom over it, makes him want to be ill. Someone finds so much fault in their relationship that they’re willing to fight and die to bring it down. Harry can hardly believe it.

Louis continues to pace, but Harry finds his way to his seat, finds a plate of eggs and warm toast waiting for him. He manages only a few bites, eyes following Louis as he continues to pace and mutter to himself, until finally he sinks into the seat across from Harry and meets his eyes.

Harry’s confused, is all. Last night Louis looked into his eyes and told him he’d been thinking about kissing him since they met, and now he seems offended at the suggestion that they’re anything more than co-rulers. What’s getting to him most of all, though, is that he still wants to kiss Louis, even now, even though that’s the thing that, ultimately, is causing them so much grief. He’s always wanted to kiss Louis, to have Louis, and apparently it’s been written on his forehead this entire time.

Louis spends the rest of the day readying the military, preparing the ships that will take them to the Kingdom of Scot to fight for the way Louis and Harry rule their kingdom. They’ll ship off in three days, with enough supplies to last them three months of battle, and by then, they’ll either be coming home to celebrate or they’ll be coming back to a kingdom that they no longer know.

Harry hardly sees Louis in the days leading up to the war. Louis takes his meals late, goes to bed late and wakes up early, spends all of his time with the military. Harry spends most of his time holed up in his library, dealing with the political repercussions of this, the village people’s concerns and the impacts of a war on the economy of a small country like theirs.

He doesn’t get to speak to Louis until the night before he’s set to ship off. Louis’s going to the war too, of course, to fight for his country’s honor. For Harry’s honor, Harry wants to tell himself. He spends a couple of hours tossing and turning in his own bed before he gets up, creeping down the corridor and knocking quietly on Louis’s door.

“Come in,” Louis calls. Harry pushes the door open and finds Louis standing by the window, gazing out over the kingdom. Harry’s heart aches, and Louis turns to offer him a melancholy smile.

“May I discuss something with you?” Harry asks, pushing the door closed behind himself.

“Of course,” Louis says, nodding Harry over to the bed. Harry shuffles across the floor and sits down on the edge of Louis’s mattress, resisting the urge to reach out and cling when Louis sits down beside him.

It’s quiet for a moment, until Harry finds the words lodged in the back of his throat. “Why are you going to war, Louis?”

“To defend our kingdom,” Louis frowns, watching him closely.

“Yes, but, are you defending it because the Kingdom of Scot is wrong?” Harry asks. “Or because they’re right?”

“What do you mean?” Louis breathes, angling his body to face Harry fully. Harry turns to him in return, but doesn’t quite meet his eye.

“You seemed offended, or- scandalized, almost, when Niall told us that the King of Scot was offended by the nature of our relationship. You said it was preposterous anyone would think that of us,” Harry says, staring at Louis’s knees.

“Yes,” Louis says, nodding slowly. He still doesn’t understand, and it hurts Harry to have to spell it out for him.

“Don’t you remember the other night, Louis? How we- we had so much wine, and we kissed, Louis, I kissed you and you kissed me back, and we fell asleep together and I woke up in your arms, with your lips pressed to the back of my neck. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Louis says, chuckling incredulously. He grabs for Harry’s hand, and Harry gives it to him unflinchingly. “Of course I remember that, Harry. Of course I’m fighting to protect that, to protect us, and our kingdom, and the way we rule it. I don’t see any difference between me ruling a kingdom with you or me ruling a kingdom with a queen, I truly don’t. I do not understand what it is that is so offensive about us, or how we rule our kingdom, whether our relationship is romantic or not. I don’t see a difference, Harry, I don’t understand how a certain combination of anatomies is more or less fit than another to head a country. I believe so, so strongly in us, in our kingdom, and everything that comes with it, I’m willing to die for it,” he says, forcing Harry to meet his shining eyes.

“You’re not going to die,” Harry tells him, voice strong but somehow still wavering. “You’re going to fight for it, but you’re going to come home. You’re going to win,” he bites out.

“Of course we’re going to win,” Louis says, grinning through watery eyes. Harry feels a tear drip down his own cheek, has no idea where it came from. “Don’t you remember what you told me when I was considering taking a nation to war for fishing inside our boundaries?”

“I told you it wasn’t worth it,” Harry says, using his free hand to wipe at his face.

“You told me it wasn’t worth it,” Louis confirms. “You told me that it wasn’t a hill worth dying on. You told me to save my energy, to find a hill I truly wanted to fight and die upon.”

“I remember,” Harry nods, another tear spilling over his cheek.

“This is my hill, Harry,” Louis breathes, grinning, a couple of tears falling from his own eyes. “This is the hill I want to fight and die on. This is the thing worth fighting for,” he says. “You are the thing worth fighting for.”

Harry shakes his head, drops his eyes to stare down at their fingers, interlocked and shaking. Louis’s right, Harry knows that for sure, but it doesn’t stop him wishing that he wasn’t.

Louis ducks down to meet his eyes again, meets his lips when he can’t. Harry opens up immediately, kisses him back fiercely, dropping Louis’s hand to cup his cheeks. Louis hugs him around his middle and tips him backward, climbs on top of him without breaking away from him and kisses him like Harry’s never been kissed before.

Louis falls asleep on his naked chest hours later, sweaty and tired, bodies aching in the best way, hearts aching in the worst way. Harry stays up all night, long after his breath evens out and his wits return to him, strokes Louis’s hair and watches his eyelids as he dreams. He loves him, he’s sure of it.

He decides then and there that this is his hill, this man here in his arms. This very well could be the hill that Louis dies on, and this very well could be the last time Harry ever sees him like this, soft and peaceful and safe. If Harry was a lesser man he would shut it down, convince Louis not to go. As it is though, he agrees far too strongly with Louis’s stance, and he knows that this is something they have to deal with.

He just hopes Louis’s confidence isn’t false.

-

The military boats leave early the next morning, and while most of the kingdom gathers to wave them off from the shore, Harry watches from Louis’s balcony.

They said their goodbyes before they got out of bed this morning, and then ate breakfast in the dark silence of the dining room. They didn’t speak again before Louis left, and Harry shuffled grudgingly up the stairs to wait for the boats to leave. The best view of the harbor is from Louis’s room, so of course that’s where Harry went, and where he’ll stay until the boats blink out of sight, possibly even longer.

It turns out to be longer, of course, because Harry finds himself glued to the spot once the boats are out of sight. He can’t move, just keeps blinking at the horizon, wishing them back, but it doesn’t work.

When he finally drags himself off the balcony, he heads straight to his library and shuts himself in, sits down at his desk and dives into his work. He’s got enough to do to last him the next three months, he hopes, or else he’ll go crazy here by himself. He already doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get any of this done without Louis, without someone to consult and talk it over with. He supposes he could go to Liam and Niall, or even James, but he doesn’t want their help. He works so much better with Louis, anyway, and not only because he’s in love with him.

And, yeah, he’s in love with him. He already knew he loved him, of course, although not consciously until last night. Now he’s sure that he’s fully, irreversibly in love with Louis; these feelings run so deep, they mean so much, it feels like an entirely different league of emotion.

On that note, he’s got mounds of paperwork, other nations to correspond with and possibly form ally relationships with. Although, after this, he doubts anyone is going to be eager to ally with them. They’ll be lucky to keep the allies they have, now that someone’s put it out there that Harry and Louis shouldn’t run a country together.

It’s a lot to deal with, especially by himself, and by midday he’s already heading for a breakdown. He’s about ready to rip all of his hair out of his head, going over his list of allies to keep in mind if the war starts going south for them, when someone knocks on the door quietly, startling him out of his panic.

“Come in,” he calls weakly, shuffling some papers around on the desk, trying for some semblance of organization.

The door cracks open and Niall’s head pokes in, followed slowly by the rest of his body. Harry watches as Niall slowly and awkwardly makes his way into the room, closing the door behind himself and sinking down into the armchair in front of Harry’s desk.

“Can I help you with something, Niall?” Harry asks after a long, silent moment, Niall just staring at his knees. It should be annoying, but Harry’s never annoyed by Niall, only finds it amusing.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Niall says finally, glancing up him. “Obviously, your highness. But- I have to ask. Are you and King Louis really, you know, together? In that way?”

Harry blinks, drops his eyes from Niall’s face to his desk. It takes a minute for it to really hit him that, yes, they are, and this is all real life.

He hides his face in his hands and crumbles a little, whimpering despite himself. Niall is there in an instant, perched on the edge of his desk, hugging him against his chest.

“We’ve kissed twice,” he confesses, voice thick. His chest feels like it’s shrinking, like he can’t get enough air. “Only twice, Niall, but I think I love him. I _know_ I love him, and now he’s out there fighting to protect our kingdom and the way we do things, to protect _us_ and- I’m so proud of him, and I support him completely, of course, but I’m so afraid that he won’t come back,” he hiccups, pressing his face into Niall’s chest. He doesn’t feel like a king, he feels like a child, and he hates it. “Not only because I love him, but because I can’t do this without him. It’s not even been a day, Niall, and I’m already struggling. I can’t do this without him!”

“He’s coming back,” Niall assures him, rubbing his back gently. It’s probably inappropriate to be breaking down to his advisor like this, but it’s by far not the most inappropriate thing Harry’s done as of late. “The soldiers won’t let that happen. They’ll protect him, and they’ll win, and he’ll be home soon. And until then, you’ve got me to help you out, and Liam, and James. We’ve felt a bit neglected the past few months,” Niall jokes, looking down at Harry’s face.

Harry wipes at his cheeks, shaking his head. “We work so well together, Louis and I,” he says, “but thank you, Niall. I definitely will not be taking you for granted in the next few months.”

“Good,” Niall grins, giving Harry one last squeeze before returning to his chair. “And you don’t have to worry, your highness, I won’t tell anyone what you just told me. Except Liam, maybe, as he’s been curious as well,” he says.

“I don’t mind Liam knowing,” Harry sighs, wiping at his face once more and then sitting up straight. “Could you also tell him I’m sorry for snapping at him at the opening of the bridge? He was right, after all.”

“I’ll let him know,” Niall hums. “Now, let’s get some work done, yeah?”

Harry can’t help but smile, pushing some papers across the desk to Niall’s waiting hands. They spend the rest of the afternoon and evening figuring out how to keep the kingdom running during the war, and by the time dinner rolls around, Harry’s feeling moderately more confident but only a fraction less devastated. He stares at Louis’s empty chair throughout dinner, actively ignoring any and all conversation in favor of wishing Louis would come back through the doors and join them. It doesn’t happen.

He changes into his bed clothes and climbs into his own bed after dinner, pretending for an hour that he’ll actually be able to fall asleep. Ultimately he gives up and shuffles down the corridor to Louis’s room, finding his bed neat and pristine, hardly the way they left it this morning. He peels back the covers and climbs in, pulling Louis’s pillow against his chest and burying his face into his scent.

It takes a while, but he eventually drifts off to sleep. With one day down and three months to go, he has no idea how he’s going to do it, but he supposes he has to. For the good of his kingdom, the good of his people, for _Louis_ , he has to find a way to make this work. He needs to be a king, finally, on his own, until they win the right to be kings together, the way they want to be.

-

Harry spends the next three months in Louis’s bed, when he’s not holed up in the library with Niall, Liam and James. The four of them manage to get everything under control in less time than they anticipated, and things go smoothly even though they’re in the midst of a war. They’re doing quite well in the battles, Harry understands, or at least that’s how Niall’s weekly reports make it sound. 

There’s no warning for the day the ships reappear on the horizon, flags flying high. The entire kingdom gathers at the coast to welcome the soldiers back, including every member of the palace staff, except Harry. He knows Louis is alright, realistically; the ships wouldn’t be flying their flags so high if he wasn’t, they wouldn’t be celebrating victory if he wasn’t. Still, Harry can’t bear to suffer the anticipation in front of everyone, waits just inside the window to Louis’s balcony and watches through the glass as the ships draw ever closer, finally mooring at the shore.

It takes a bit for the soldiers to file off the boat, one by one, ever professional. Harry watches, leaning against the doorframe, heart thumping in his chest, until a single carriage arrives back to the palace.

He pushes away from the window before the carriage even comes to a complete stop, turning his back to it and staring at the bed. Louis is home, and any second now he’ll come inside, come upstairs, and find him.

It takes a few minutes, a long few minutes, but finally Harry hears footsteps in the corridor. He sits down on the edge of Louis’s bed and waits to be found, gripping his own thighs tight enough to quell the anxious trembling of his fingers.

Louis checks Harry’s room first. Harry can hear the door creak open down the corridor, can hear Louis chuckle, can hear his footsteps start up again, more determined than before, until finally he’s pushing through the last barricade between them, and finally they’re face to face.

Harry’s crying. He doesn’t know when he started, but there are tears streaming steadily down his face and his breath is coming quick and hard, and Louis’s smiling so wide his eyes are scrunched almost shut. He strides forward the last few steps and Harry stands up, face inches from Louis’s, and takes him in.

His hair is long, long enough that it’s curling a bit under his ears. His beard is long, as well, though Harry’s sure he shaved at some point within the past week or so. He looks exhausted, skin dull and eyes heavy, but he looks alive, and really, that’s all Harry cares about.

He throws his arms around him, melts into his chest, sobs into his neck. Louis barks a laugh and holds him, but he can’t support both of their weight, and so they sink to the floor together, always together. Louis lets him get it all out of his system, lets him touch his face and kiss his lips and run his fingertips through his hair, down his back, over every inch of his skin.

“We won, Harry,” Louis tells him, propped up over him on the soft carpet like angel, soft glow from the setting sun illuminating his face and hair like he’s glowing from within, like he’s harvesting the light to keep for himself. “We won, and we’ve got the whole world at our feet.”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of skin against skin, harsh breaths against soft lips, slow bodies and quick hearts. Harry is well and truly wrecked by the time they manage to get themselves downstairs for dinner, but Louis isn’t much better off.

It’s no secret what they’ve been doing as they take their seats at the dining table, but no one seems to care, still celebrating and toasting to the success of their great nation. Louis joins the festivities heartily, but Harry’s too busy admiring the sun shining through his skin to give any speeches.

“Today,” Louis says, toward the end of the meal, standing up and raising his glass, “we changed the course of history. Today, we defeated old fashioned ideals, and made obsolete the rules that once constrained the world. Today, and from this day on, kings and queens will remember our names as they rule their kingdoms as they see fit. Today, we opened doors for generations to come, and tonight, my friends, we celebrate.”

He’s met with a cheer from everyone in the room, servants and kings alike. Harry’s on his feet before he knows what’s happening and then they’re dancing, the whole kingdom, the whole _world_ , dancing on the grave of their doubts.

-

The end of the war comes with a barrage of developments within the kingdom, particularly concerning Harry’s own family. He’s invited them to dinner a few times since he moved out of the palace, but his father has always been too busy to attend, until now.

They come for afternoon tea, which turns out to be lovely, and then they have a walk together through the garden because it’s such a lovely day, and Louis is dying to show Harry’s mum the flowerbeds his own mother used to fuss over so much. Harry strolls somewhat behind Louis, Anne and Gemma, falling into step with his father.

He’s not wearing his spectacles, the round ones Harry loves so much. He’s squinting ahead of him at Louis and the girls, and it could be because of the sun, but Harry knows it’s because he can’t see, doesn’t like to wear his glasses out of the palace. It makes him ache, the thought of it, the thought that all he ever wanted was to be like his father, and he’s let him down so incredibly that they haven’t spoken in months.

“Thank you for coming, father,” he says, voice quiet, just for the two of them. The others aren’t paying attention, anyway, Louis too busy showing off his mother’s gorgeous fruit trees, and Gemma and Anne too busy falling in love with him, probably, if they’re anything like Harry. “It means a lot to me.”

Harry’s father nods once, sighs, squints down at his feet as they meander over the gravel pathway. “You know that I didn’t believe in you when this- you know, when you started all of this,” he says. His voice has the same effect on Harry that it always has; Harry’s struck with nostalgia, tension easing out of his shoulders. “But you’ve absolutely proven me wrong.”

Harry nearly sobs with joy, but he refrains, holding his composure. “Will you please tell me,” he says, voice hardly more than a whisper. “Please, father, tell me why the kingdoms split?”

His father sighs again, deeper this time. Harry gets the feeling that that’s the end of the conversation. Louis happens to glance back at him while he’s introducing the girls to his favorite patch of roses, his face falling when he sees Harry’s.

“Ladies, I’d really love to show you my mother’s favorite bench. She used to read to me there as a child, won’t you follow me?” he says, giving Harry a look over his shoulders as he takes the girls’ arms and leads them further down the winding path.

“I’d like to show you my library, father,” Harry says, slowing to a stop on the pathway. “Will you come inside with me?”

They make a slow pace back to the palace, and then down the corridor to Harry’s library. It feels odd, looking at his father standing in his own library. It’s a place he’s never seen him, and place he never really expected to see him.

“Impressive,” his father says, taking it in. He strolls slowly past one of the bookshelves, squinting at some of the titles. “Almost as impressive as mine, at home.”

“Please, father,” Harry says, sinking into the chair at his desk, watching his father turn to face him. “Please tell me the truth.”

His father holds his breath for a moment, and then takes a seat in one of the armchairs in front of Harry’s desk. He looks resigned, but Harry’s chest is bubbling with hope, with joy at the promise of finally knowing what happened.

“Three centuries ago,” he begins, sounding exhausted already, “your great, great great grandfather made a terrible mistake. He tried to rule the kingdom with another king, instead of with a queen. Long story short, Harry, it was a disaster. The two of them didn’t work well together at all; they fought about everything, couldn’t agree on a single policy or law. When they inevitably split up, the kingdoms split with them. King Louis’s ancestor, the one your ancestor tried to change the world with, burned the bridge on his way across it, both literally and figuratively. This has been the ancient feud ever since,” he says.

Harry blinks, watching his father watch him for a long moment. It seems so simple, so obvious, not at all something worth keeping a secret for all these years, nearly letting it ruin their relationship. “Why did you lie to me about it?” Harry asks, voice quiet but hard, displeased.

“I didn’t lie to you, Harry,” his father says. “Not completely, anyway. Most people don’t know the whole story. They know bits and pieces, rumors, but not the whole story.”

“But why didn’t you ever tell me?” Harry asks. He’s trying very hard not to get angry about it, but he’s finding it difficult. “It is not as if I never asked, father. I was always so interested, I was so fascinated by history. I still am! So why did you keep the truth from me for so long?”

“I don’t know,” his father mumbles, dropping his eyes. “I was… afraid, I suppose, to say it out loud. I guess I thought that if I did, history might repeat itself, or something like that. I was wrong to keep it from you.”

“Don’t you know that that’s why history should be taught, father?” Harry says, scoffing quietly. “So that it doesn’t repeat itself?”

“I suppose you’re right,” his father says, smiling apologetically at him. “Everything turned out pretty wonderfully, though, I think,” he says. 

“No thanks to you,” Harry frowns, shaking his head. “I was devastated that I disappointed you, father.”

“All the thanks to me, I should think,” his father answers, still grinning. Harry’s blood boils, but his father has always had a way of calming him down, making arguments seem a lot less severe. “Be honest with me, Harry. If you’d known that story, would you have decided to share the kingdom with King Louis?” 

Harry hesitates, and then sighs. “No.”

“There you have it, then,” his father laughs, standing up out of his chair with a flourish. “All’s well that ends well, yes?”

Harry can’t help but smile, pushing himself out of his chair and rounding the desk to hug him. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbles, pressing himself into his father’s chest, like he’s a little boy again.

“Thank you for not hating me for keeping it from you,” his father says, leaving a kiss in his hair. 

“I guess I understand,” Harry says, pulling away after a moment. “History will not repeat itself, by the way, father. Louis and I, we work so well together,” he says.

“I know that, I can see that,” his father says. He glances out the window behind him, looking over the garden, spotting Louis and the girls laughing amidst the flowers. “Shall we go rejoin them, then?”

“Yes,” Harry grins, following his father back down the corridor and outside. Louis meets his eyes as they cross the grass, and Harry gives him a smile, so Louis smiles back just as wide, beautiful as the flowers he’s surrounded by.

-

Later that night, Harry finds himself wrapped up in bed with Louis, watching his eyelashes flutter as he starts to fall asleep. Harry’s never felt further from sleep, his mind going a mile a minute even when he closes his eyes.

Eventually he gives up and looks at Louis again, eyes wide in the dark. Louis’s not totally asleep yet, he can tell, so he reaches out to poke his nose gently, smiling softly when Louis flinches and opens his eyes.

“Sleep, love,” Louis tells him, snuggling a little closer under the covers and letting his eyes fall shut again.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, pulling him close but still watching his face. “Lou, did you know why the kingdoms split?”

Louis’s eyes open, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze locked on Harry’s chest, shrugs one naked shoulder under the weight of Harry’s arm. “Yes.”

“And you still let me talk you into reuniting the kingdoms and ruling together?” he asks, disbelieving.

“Maybe that was my goal all along,” Louis says, shrugging again. “Subconsciously.”

“You’re full of shit,” Harry laughs, holding him a little tighter. He never, ever wants to let go.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” Louis says, and he smiles, finally looking up at him. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into it. I suppose fate has good intentions for us,” he says, voice paper thin, eyes shining.

“You think so?” Harry hums, watching him with shining eyes of his own.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, pressing up to kiss him sweetly. They fall asleep like that, still breathing each other’s breath, the lights from their kingdom filtering in through the open windows with the warm summer air. Their footprints will remain deep in this kingdom long after they’re gone, and the world as they know it will never be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/171026271368/not-even-the-gods-above-by-suspendrs-25k-the)
> 
> [faq](http://suspendrs-fics.tumblr.com/faq)


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